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THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED,  AND  OTHER 
POEMS.  i2mo,  $1.10,  net.  Postage  extra. 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ROAD,  AND  OTHER 
POEMS.  i2mo,  $1.00,  net.  Postage  8 
cents. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

and  Other  Poems 

BY  ANNA  HEMPSTEAD  BRANCH 


OF  THF 

:-.-v       r      £  -;;  v 

or 

( 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN    AND    COMPANY 

to$$,  Cambribge 
1906 


GENERAL 


COPYRIGHT   1905  BY  ANNA  HEMPSTEAD  BRANCH 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  April  1305 


SECOND  IMPRESSION 


TO 

MARY   A.   JORDAN 
TRUE   TEACHER    AND    DEAR   FRIEND 


CONTENTS 

THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED I 

THE  RIDERS 55 

WHILE  LOVELINESS  GOES  BY 60 

SWEET  WEARINESS 61 

THE  WOUND 62, 

A  SONNET  FOR  THE  EARTH 63 

MY  FOOLISH  DEEDS 64 

SONNETS  FOR  NEW  YORK  CITY 65 

I.  NEW  YORK  AT  SUNRISE 65 

II.  A  POLITICAL  "  BOSS  " 66 

III.  SHAME  ON  THEE,  O  MANHATTAN       .       .  67 

IV.  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  LIFE 68 

TO    A    NEW    YORK    SHOP-GIRL    DRESSED     FOR 

SUNDAY 69 

FORGETFULNESS         . 73 

THE -PURITAN 75 

THE  JOURNEY 79 

THE  RETURN 83 

KNOWLEDGE 84 

THE  ROAD  OF  SLEEP 85 

SPRING  SONG 87 

IN  A  VISION  OF  THE  NIGHT 90 


viii  CONTENTS 

THE  STORM g 

TO  DUST  RETURNING 1OI 

A  GIRL'S  SONG  IN  THE  WILDERNESS          .       .  lo? 

THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  EARTH IO9 

LADIES  FAIR Ilg 

GRIEVE  NOT,  LADIES J2O 

THE  DESCENDANT  AND  THE  ID     ...  i22 

GLADNESS 

TO  NATURE fi 

SERVICE 

OH,  TELL  ME  THAT  THE  BIRD  HAS  WINGS  .       .139 

FIRST  SIGHT 

TO  BEAUTY .14.2 

THE  BLESSED  HANDS  OF  SLEEP I43 

WHO  WON  THE  DAY  ?    . 


THE  SLEEP  IN  GETHSEMANE     ......    ,46 

MAXIMS  FOR  AN  O 
THE  COMMON  LOT 


MAXIMS  FOR  AN  OLD  HOUSE    ......    ,47 


...    151 
SONGS  FOR  MY  MOTHER       .....       '      •    153 

i.  MY  MOTHER'S  CLOTHES     .     .     .     .-    .  153 

II.  HER  HANDS   .........    ,54 

III.  HER  WORDS   .........    ,55 

IV.  HER  STORIES         ........    15? 

EVE'S  SONG 


, 

THE  THEATRE-CURTAIN      .       .       .....    ,63 

THE  PILGRIM        ..........    ,6g 

A  MOTHER'S  SONG  .........  I?0 


CONTENTS  ix 

CLOD  OF  THE  EARTH ijz 

THE  DREAMING  MAN 173 

UNDER  THE  TREES 180 

ORA  PRO  NOBIS 185 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

SCENE  :  WATTE AU'S  Studio.  LANCRET,  bis  pupil, 
works  at  a  painting.  WATTEAU'S  portrait  of  the 
QUEEN,  which  has  recently  gained  for  him  the 
appointment  of  Court  Painter,  occupies  a  promi 
nent  position.  There  is  a  burst  of  singing,  a 
clamor  of  voices,  and  PIERRETTE  and  FAUS- 
TINE,  ballet  dancers,  accompanied  by  COURTIN, 
an  artist,  frolic  into  the  studio. 

VOICES  (singing  outside) 
Blossoms  perish  in  the  snow  ! 
Columbine  won't  kiss  Pierrot. 

(Shouts} 
The  New  Academician  ! 

Court  Favorite  ! 

"[Enter  COURTIN  with  FAUSTINE  and  PIERRETTE] 

ALL  (singing) 

Blossoms  floating  in  the  wine, 
Harlequin  loved  Columbine  / 

COURTIN 

Watteau ! 


2  THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

FAUSTINE 

Where  is  Watteau  ? 

LANCRET 

He 's  out. 

PIERRETTE 

To-day  ? 

FAUSTINE 

Why,  sir,  to-day  the  queen  comes  to  the  studio 
To  see  her  portrait  ! 

COURTIN    (looking  at  WATTEAU'S   portrait  of  the 
QUEEN) 

Oh,  majestic  Lady  ! 

With  all  her  pride  and  beauty  painted  here 
As  real  as  life.    Insolent  loveliness  ! 
And  in  her  hands  —  for  woman's  vanity  — 
Watteau  has  sketched  the  world  !    What  she  will 

have, 

That  she  will  have,  —  most  arrogant  of  queens, 
That  never  knew  denial.    God  himself 
Refuses  her  not  anything  at  all 
Save  lovely  meekness.    So  in  very  truth 
This  Lady  has  for  hers  the  great  round  world 
To  give  or  take. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED  3 

FAUSTINE 

To-day  she  only  gives, 
And  Watteau  has  the  bounty. 

COURTIN  (saluting  the  portrait) 

To  the  queen  — 

That  rescued  him  from  an  oblivion 
Thick  as  Egyptian  darkness.    Yesterday 
He  hired  out  to  a  confectioner 
And  painted  little  Cupids  upon  bonbons  — 

PIERRETTE 

On  bonbons  ! 

FAUSTINE 

Cupids ! 

PIERRETTE 

Watteau's  masterpieces  ! 

COURTIN 
To  buy  him  bread. 

LANCRET 

Or  painted  —  Columbines  ! 

FAUSTINE  (indignantly) 
The  Columbine  ! 


4  THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

What  is  there  in  that  creature 
That  artists  all  pursue  her ! 

FAUSTINE  (humming) 
Blossoms  lead  the  April  in  ! 


Columbine  flounced  Harlequin  ! 

COURTIN 

Now  fortune  changes,  and  in  one  brief  day 

This  portrait  charms  the  eye  of  royalty, 

And  makes  Watteau  the  painter  to  the  queen. 

FAUSTINE  (in  acclamation) 
Watteau ! 

PIERRETTE  (joyously) 

Court  painter ! 

COURTIN 

Lancret,  you  are  silent. 

LANCRET 

I  am  at  work. 

FAUSTINE 

On  what,  Monsieur  Lancret  ? 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED  5 

LANCRET 

I  paint  —  the  queen. 

FAUSTINE 

Like  great  Watteau ! 

COURTIN 

Disciple  ! 
You  catch  the  master's  spirit. 

LANCRET  (morosely) 

No  —  not  yet  !  — 

The  dance,  the  dream,  the  fire,  the  poised  music  ! 
[WATTEAU  enters  the  studio,  and  joins    the 

group  unseen] 
If  I  could  see  his  heart  — 

WATTEAU 

Look  to  your  own. 

FAUSTINE 

Watteau ! 

LANCRET 

The  master ! 

WATTEAU 

To  your  own,  I  say. 


6  THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

And  find  perchance  some  spelling  writ  thereon 
By  the  hand  of  God.    'T  will  prove  instructive, 

maybe, 
As  aught  of  mine. 

LANCRET  (pointing  to  WATTEAU'S  portrait) 

Nay,  master,  I  can  never 
Accomplish  —  that. 

WATTEAU 

True  !  Who  in  all  the  world 
Can  paint  such  splendor  ?  I  am  the  one  Watteau 
That  Heaven  has  achieved. 

And  yet  —  poor  humdrum  ! 
Thou  art  not  what  I  dreamed  !    What  is  success  ? 
Since  all  our  triumphs  are  but  shadows  at  noon 
Whereby  we  measure  failure.    Let  it  be  ! 
I   hate   the  work  of  my   hands.     I  am  not  like 

God. 
I  look  upon  it  and  do  not  find  it  good. 

LANCRET 

Not  good  ! 

FAUSTINE  (gazing  at  portrait) 

I  beg  of  you,  Monsieur  Watteau, 
Paint  me  / 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED  7 

PIERRETTE 

Yes  —  make  us  beautiful,  Watteau  — 
The  little  ballet  dancers  ! 

FAUSTINE 

Oh,  Watteau ! 
Have  you  grown  scornful  now  you  go  to  court  ? 

PIERRETTE 

He  only  strives  to  please  great  ladies ! 

FAUSTINE 

Called 
To  deck  the  boudoir  of  the  queen  with  Cupids ! 

PIERRETTE 

To  charm  her  walls  with  fauns  that  dance ! 

FAUSTINE 

To  wreathe 
Her  fan  with  roses  ! 

WATTEAU 

No. 

LANCRET 

To  what  then,  master, 
Has  the  queen  summoned  great  Watteau  ? 


8  THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

WATTEAU 

My  friend, 
The  queen  has  bade  me  to  the  Sistine  Chapel  — 

FAUSTINE 
Never ! 

PIERRETTE 

For  what  ? 

COURTIN 

What  would  she  have  you  paint  ? 

WATTEAU 

A  great  Madonna. 

FAUSTINE 

You! 

PIERRETTE 

Watteau  ! 

COURTIN 

But  man  — 
To  paint  —  Madonnas  ! 

WATTEAU 

Well  — 


THE    SHOES   THAT    DANCED  9 

COURTIN 

Who  could  have  thought 
Watteau  had  dreamed  of  this  ! 

WATTEAU 

Yet  I  have  dreamed ! 

COURTIN 
But  can  you  do  it  ? 

WATTEAU 

(Producing  from  a  box  a  pair  of  satin  slippers, 
exquisitely  painted,  and  banding  one  of  them 
to  COURTIN) 

Look! 

COURTIN 

But  this  is  — 

WATTEAU 

Shoes ! 

FAUSTINE 

A  lady's  slipper ! 

COURTIN 

Watteau  turned  shoemaker ! 


io          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

Blue  satin ! 

COURTIN 

For  some  foolish  girl  to  dance  in. 

LANCRET 

What  craft! 

WATTEAU 

I  painted  Cupids  round  the  edge. 

COURTIN 
But  man  — 

LANCRET 

He  's  mad.    Let  him  alone. 

WATTEAU 

Why  so  ? 

LANCRET 

These  figures  are  perfect ! 

WATTEAU 

That  is  what  I  thought. 


THE    SHOES    THAT    DANCED  11 

COURTIN 

It 's  worth  a  thousand  francs  ! 

WATTEAU 

Indeed ! 

COURTIN 

A  thousand  ? 

It  Js  worth  a  fortune  !    Show  it  to  the  queen, 
For  what  she  covets  that  she  surely  buys. 

LANCRET 

The  fineness  of  it !    JT  is  a  masterpiece. 

COURTIN 
You  can  do  all  things ! 

FAUSTINE 

Rosebuds  —  butterflies  — 
And  little  Cupids  round  and  round  about. 

LANCRET 

How  nonchalant  he  is  ! 

COURTIN 

Watteau,  you  fool  — 
Be  all  distraught  with  it !    Roll  a  frenzied  eye ! 


iz  THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

Shout  out,  "  I  did  it !  "    Be  inebriate 
With  the  cup  of  glory.    Stagger  splendidly. 
Shout  out,  "  I  did  it !  " 

WATTEAU 

Have  you  seen  the  sole  ? 
LANCRET  (turning  shoe  over) 

A  Madonna ! 

FAUSTINE 

Ah! 

COURTIN 

Watteau,  this  little  shoe 

Is  filled  with  fortune  —  painted  o'er  with  fame 
And  immortality. 

WATTEAU 

You  compliment  me. 

LANCRET 

You  were  born  for  greatness. 

WATTEAU 

Yes. 

LANCRET  (examining  painting) 

But  what  a  face ! 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          13 

WATTEAU 

That  is  my  dream,  to  fill  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

COURTIN 

There 's  nothing  out  of  reach.    The  crucifixion  ! 
Archangels  !    Ah  —  but  how  that  blazoned  chapel 
Will  roar  with  fiery  wings  ! 

FAUSTINE 

Drawn  on  the  sole  ! 

WATTEAU 

What  would  you  ? 

COURTIN 

Sketched  upon  a  block  of  gold 
In  lasting  lineaments.    Why,  satin,  man, 
Is  a  most  fragile  substance. 

WATTEAU 

So  they  say. 

PIERRETTE 

But  one  time  round  upon  a  polished  floor 
Will  ruin  this  splendor. 

WATTEAU 

That 's  the  beauty  of  it. 


1 4          THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

PIERRETTE 

But  a  Madonna  ! 

COURTIN 

On  a  lady's  slipper ! 

WATTEAU 

To  show  that  she  for  whom  I  made  this  shoe 
Owns  all  my  craftsmanship !  I  painted  them 
For  Columbine  to  dance  in  — 

LANCRET  (jealously) 

Columbine ! 

COURTIN  (enthusiastically) 
The  prettiest  dancer  in  the  whole  ballet ! 
Rosebuds  and  Cupids,  flower  o'  thistle  down. 

\Enter    COLUMBINE    wrapped    in    a   scarlet 

mantle] 
Most  fragile,  fine  spun,  silver,  fitful,  fair  — 

COLUMBINE 

I  thank  you,  good  Courtin  !   Come  here,  Pierrette. 
Take  off  my  mantle. 

PIERRETTE 

I  will  not  touch  it. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          15 

COLUMBINE 

How? 
She  Js  jealous  !    Faustine  ? 

(FAUSTINE  makes  a  gesture  of  refusal.    LAN- 
CRET  and  COURTIN  assist  in  taking  mantle) 
Thank  you,  gentlemen. 
(She  shines  resplendent  in  a  ballet  gown) 
I  came  between  the  acts  of  the  rehearsal. 
The  queen  will  be  there  when  I  dance  to-night. 
Pray  you,  does  anybody  like  my  gown  ? 

COURTIN 
We  all  admire  it. 

PIERRETTE 

Oh,  I  hate  this  girl ! 

COLUMBINE 

She  says  she  hates  me  ! 

FAUSTINE 

This  air  stifles  me. 

COLUMBINE 

I  make  her  sick!    The  good  Lord  made  me  so. 
Is  it  naughty,  then,  to  be  so  beautiful  ? 
Monsieur  Watteau  —  and  have  you  any  news  ? 


16          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

WATTEAU 

Look  at  this  portrait. 

(Displays   portrait  of  QUEEN   holding  in  her 
hands  the  world) 

COLUMBINE 

Well  ? 

WATTEAU 

So  slight  a  thing  — 

Yet  it  has  brought  me  wealth,  preferment,  honor  ! 
And  that  great  world  I  painted  in  her  hands 
She  gives  to  me. 

COLUMBINE 

What  —  does  she  — 

WATTEAU 

Listen,  child. 
I  am  made  Court  Painter. 

COLUMBINE  (as  if  startled) 

Oh,  Monsieur  Lancret ! 

WATTEAU 

The  queen  has  bade  me  to  the  Sistine  Chapel 
To  paint  —  Madonnas. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          17 
COLUMBINE  (indifferently) 

But,  Monsieur  Watteau, 
Where  are  the  slippers  that  you  promised  me 
To  dance  in  ? 

WATTEAU 

Child  —  but  hear  me  for  a  moment. 
This  is  the  day  when  all  my  dreams  come  true, 
And  Poverty  no  longer  with  a  sword 
Bids  Watteau  back  from  that  high  Paradise 
Wherein  are  mighty  deeds.    My  hour  has  come. 
Great  barren  walls  that  cry  aloud  for  wings  ! 
How  I  will  blazon  them  with  the  vast  glories 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  and  Purgatory  and  Hell ! 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau  !    The  painted  slippers  ! 

WATTEAU 

Columbine, 

Just  for  a  moment  hear  me  —  and  rejoice ! 
Be  glad  for  me.     My  dreams  rush  on  like  tem 
pests 

Full  of  great  sound  and  fire.    Heaven  calls  me. 
Raphael  says  come,  and  Michael  Angelo 
Thunders  affection  from  St.  Peter's  Dome. 
The  air  is  full  of  flaming  robes  of  Titian, 


1 8  THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

And  pale  sweet  faces  of  Leonardo.    Rembrandt 
Disturbs  my  slumber  !    All  the  mighty  visions 
I   have   dreamed  of   so    long,  —  the   wings,   the 

haloes,  — 

And  high  above  the  altar,  pale  with  glory, 
My  great  Madonna  — 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau  —  my  satin  slippers. 

WATTEAU  (putting  them  in  her  hands) 
Then  take  them. 

COLUMBINE 
Beautiful ! 

WATTEAU 

Rosebuds  and  Cupids ! 

COLUMBINE 

I  '11  dance  before  the  queen. 

COURTIN 

Nay  —  on  the  sole 
Is  sketched  his  masterpiece. 

COLUMBINE  (examining  sole) 
What- 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    19 

WATTEAU 

The  Madonna. 

COLUMBINE 

Painted  for  me  !    Oh  !   if   the  queen    could  see 

them 

How  she  would  envy  them  —  the  satin  slippers, 
That  are  the  ballet  dancer's  —  Columbine's. 

(Shouts  are  heard  outside) 

VOICES  (outside) 
Watteau  !  Watteau  !  Court  Painter  ! 

[Bov  runs  in~\ 

BOY 

Sir,  the  guild 
Of  Paris  Artists,  outside  in  the  street  — 

VOICES  (outside) 
Watteau  ! 

BOY 
Would  honor  you  ! 

VOICES 

Watteau  ! 


20          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 
COURTIN  (to  WATTEAU) 

Out,  then, 
And  quiet  them. 

[WATTEAU  goes  out  with  all  but  COLUMBINE 
and  LANCRET,  w bo  remain  in  the  studio] 

VOICES  (outside) 
Watteau  ! 

COLUMBINE 

Monsieur  Lancret, 
I  will  be  frank  with  you,  since  time  is  brief. 

LANCRET  (wearily) 
So  frankness  has  a  reason,  Columbine  ? 

COLUMBINE 

But  tease  me  not.    This  portrait  rivals  Watteau's. 
I  could  not  tell  the  difference. 

LANCRET 

I  have  stolen, 

As  a  beggar  steals  a  cloak  to  hide  his  rags, 
A  purple  garment  for  my  shabby  talent, 
The  master's  style. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          21 

COLUMBINE 

Who  can  do,  may  do,  Lancret. 
I  want  the  world  for  you. 

LANCRET 

Frail  Columbine  — 
Purchased  with  glories  ! 

COLUMBINE 

Glory  I  will  have  ! 

And  stars  to  drink  from  and  the  sky  to  dance  on. 
Yes,  shod  with  wind,  this  Columbine  would  dance, 
Dance,  dance  for  centuries.    Listen,  Lancret, 
I  die  without  my  splendors.    Lancret,  listen. 
Do  you  desire  me  ? 

LANCRET 

Child,  what  are  you  worth  ? 

COLUMBINE 

I  love  you,  Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

Love  ? 

COLUMBINE 

But  I  have  labored 


22          THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

To    bring   you    fortune.    Coaxed  the    great    sad 

painter, 

That  loves  not  women  but  loves  Columbine, 
To  teach  you  for  my  sake  his  mellow  glories. 
How  I  have  seen  you  learning  day  by  day 
The  master's  powers  and  to  this  very  end, 
That  you  should  be  —  hush  !    Longed  to  smile  on 

you, 

Yet  dared  not,  lest  he  see  and  understand. 
My  protege  I  called  you.    A  light  boy 
Worth  helping  only  —  a  sort  of  studio  spaniel 
I  liked  to  keep  about  me.    So  I  won 
His  favor  for  you  and  the  golden  teachings 
Watteau  sells  at  no  price  but  gives  to  you 
To  please  —  the  Columbine.    Oh,  I  have  dreamed 
Of  honors,  honors  —  such  as  the  world  can  give  — 

LANCRET 

And  stolen  from  Watteau. 

COLUMBINE 

Listen,  Lancret, 

At  the  opera  all  the  dancers  talk  of  you  — 
Lancret  —  the  new  Apollo.    At  the  court 
Mademoiselle  Felise,  who  dresses  hair, 
Tells  me  the  boudoirs  speak  the  name  of  Lan 
cret 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    23 

Like  a  love  spell.    A  wit,  a  beau,  a  gallant, 
Gay  chevalier  —  a  genius  too  —  great  Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

I  will  not  listen. 

COLUMBINE 

But  to-day  the  queen 
Will  come  to  see  her  portrait,  and  if  then 
She  chanced  to  look  on  yours  — 

LANCRET 

Beside  Watteau's 
How  pale  it  is ! 

COLUMBINE 

But  if  the  master's  hand 

Coaxed  by  the  Columbine  should  touch  your  por 
trait 

With  divine  magic  —  often  he  has  done  so, 
To  make  his  meaning  clear  of  light  and  shadow  — 
And   if   the    queen  —  they   tell   me    queens    are 
fickle  — 

LANCRET 

Even  like  Columbine  ? 


24          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

But  if  the  queen 
Should  see  it  —  then  — 

LANCRET 

I  cannot  listen. 

COLUMBINE 

Nay  — 

What  if  the  master  in  a  tempestuous  mood 
Of  black  despair,  such  absolute  distaste 
As  takes  him  like  a  madness  and  undoes  him 
And  what  he  makes  —  why,  I  have  seen  him  burn 
A  masterpiece  one  bargained  for  in  vain, 
And  he  half  starved,  because  he  said  it  lacked 
Some  light,  some  music,  the  angels  told  him  what  i 
You  know  the  moods  I  mean.   Well  —  if  Watteau, 
In  such  a  spirit  — 

LANCRET 

Hush! 

COLUMBINE 

Struck  with  his  brush 

(Pointing  to  WATTEAU'S  portrait  of  the  QUEEN) 
Out,  in  one  minute,  that  high  and  haughty  smile, 
Out,  all  the  insolent  glory  of  her  face  — 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    25 

LANCRET  (with  rebuke) 
He  is  my  master. 

COLUMBINE  (leaning  over  LANCRET'S  portrait) 

If  the  queen's  eye  fell, 
Then,  upon  this,  Lancret  — 

LANCRET 

Vainglorious  child, 
Does  splendor  purchase  you  ? 

[WATTEAU  enters.    COLUMBINE  goes  to  him] 

COLUMBINE 

Lancret  —  I  pledge 
My  hand  to  —  the  Court  Painter. 

WATTEAU 

Columbine, 
Is  that  a  riddle  ? 

COLUMBINE 
No  —  Monsieur  Watteau. 

WATTEAU 

You  love  my  office  ? 


26    THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

No  —  Monsieur  Watteau. 

(Draws  him  to  LANCRET'S  portrait  of  the  QUEEN) 
Come  !  See  this  portrait.     Let  us  criticise  it 
And  tease  the  artist  for  the  golden  manner 
He  stole  from  you.     The  boy  amuses  me. 
He    strives    so    hard    to    be   Watteau.     Come ! 

come  ! 
Instruct  my  protege. 

WATTEAU 

Why  should  I  do  so? 

COLUMBINE 

Because  I  ask  you. 


Sound  logic. 


WATTEAU 

That  is  cause  enough. 

COLUMBINE 


Oh,  this  little  me  !  To  think 
I  am  so  small  and  powerful.    I  feel 
Jig  as  a  lion.    Fear  me,  great  Watteau. 


WATTEAU 
Well  — soldo. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED  27 

COLUMBINE 

But  why  ? 

WATTEAU 

White  magic  !  Spell 
Of  little  meaning  that  the  wit  denies 
And  yet  the  heart  believes. 

COLUMBINE 

How  well  you  praise  me. 

Put  out  your  hand.    How  big  !    Now  look  at  mine ! 
Master,  which  hand  is  stronger  ? 

WATTEAU 

Columbine's. 

COLUMBINE 

Speak  more  such  words.     What  would  you  ? 

WATTEAU 

Your  heart. 


T  is  but  a  bauble. 


COLUMBINE 

Why  — so  — 

WATTEAU 

I  would  die  for  it. 


\ 


28          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

Would  you,  Watteau  ?    Then  teach  this  silly  boy 
To  learn  his  lesson. 

WATTEAU  (curiously) 

Delilah  ?  Oh,  Delilah. 

COLUMBINE 

I  am  not. 

WATTEAU 

Ah? 

COLUMBINE 

Master,  he  is  a  truant 
Not  swift  at  learning.    I  would  have  him  learn. 

WATTEAU 

But  if  the  pupil  should  outstrip  the  master  — 
So  gracious,  fine,  fashioned  so  shapely,  fair 
To  please  court  ladies  ! 

LANCRET 

Master  ! 

COLUMBINE 

Oh,  Watteau, 
Teach  him. 


THE   SHOES   THAT    DANCED          29 

WATTEAU 

But  why  ? 

COLUMBINE 

I  love  his  sweetheart. 

WATTEAU 

True. 

That  is  the  very  sterling  coin  of  speech. 
How  could  you  spend  it  ! 

COLUMBINE 

She  dances  next  to  me 
In  the  ballet.    The  one  in  scarlet  slippers. 
Her  name  is  Anastase. 

WATTEAU 

But  wherefore  lie  ? 

COLUMBINE 

I  promised  her  to  help  him. 

WATTEAU 

Wherefore  lie  ? 

Yet  such  explicit  guile  is  almost  truth 
It  tells  so  on  itself. 


30          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 
COLUMBINE  (pleading) 

Show  him,  Watteau. 


Look,  it  needs  you. 


LANCRET 

Master ! 

COLUMBINE 

Then  I  will  love  you. 

WATTEAU 


Sure  ? 


COLUMBINE 

Oh,  I  will !    I  '11  take  the  heart  of  me 
And  put  it  in  your  hands. 

WATTEAU 

A  sugar  heart  ? 
With  white  doves  painted  on  it  ? 

COLUMBINE 

No,  no,  no ! 
A  really,  truly,  really  heart,  Watteau. 

WATTEAU  (to  LANCRET) 
Lend  me  your  oil. 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    31 

LANCRET 

Master,  how  you  trust  me. 

WATTEAU 

No,  no  !    my  son  —  I  love  you  well,  but  never 
Think  that  I  trust  you. 

COLUMBINE  (holding  oil  for  WATTEAU) 
The  oil. 

WATTEAU  (beginning  work  on  LANCRET'S  portrait) 

Now  learn  of  me. 
(He  scrutinizes  the  oil) 
Bah  !   But  you  keep  it  clean. 

LANCRET 

But  — 

WATTEAU 

My  own  oil 

Is  full  of  dust ;  I  clean  it  once  a  week. 
And  bits  of  stick  and  hair  and  cobweb  too 
I  keep  in  it.    Let  moth  and  dust  corrupt 
What 's  in  this  world. 

LANCRET 

But  pardon  me,  Watteau, 
Your  colors  fade  the  sooner. 


32    THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

WATTEAU 

That 's  why  I  do  it. 
I  advise  that  you  do  likewise. 

(He  has  altered  the  portrait) 
Look! 

COLUMBINE  (in  triumph) 

He  has  done  it. 

WATTEAU 

That 's  all.    But  just  a  high  light  and  a  line. 
A  little,  little  line.    'T  was  just  that  much 
That  made  the  gulf  on  the  Heaven  side  of  Dives. 
By  Monsieur  Lancret  —  portrait  of  the  queen. 
As  good  as  mine,  I  think.    (Turning  to  his  own) 

Ah  —  how  I  loathe  it  J 
(He  turns  again  to  LANCRET'S  portrait) 
I  advise  you,  Lancret,  place  it  where  the  queen 
May  see  it. 

LANCRET 

But  — 

WATTEAU 

It  may  advantage  you. 
For  if  she  favors  it  above  Watteau's  — 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    33 

COLUMBINE 

Above  your  own,  Watteau  ? 

(They  stand  before  WATTE AU'S  portrait) 

WATTEAU 

'T  is  failure. 

COLUMBINE 

Yet 

The  world  would  say  success. 

WATTEAU 

Sweet  Columbine  — 

The  heart  heeds  not  the  applauding  multitude 
But  its  own  judgment. 

COLUMBINE 

Nay  — 

WATTEAU 

It  sickens  me. 

COLUMBINE  (scheming) 
'T  is  not  your  best. 

WATTEAU 

What  ? 


34    THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

In  a  conquering  mood 

Think  what  you  might  achieve  with  such  a  face  ! 
Would  I  might  see  that  portrait ! 

WATTEAU 

I  hate  my  work. 

(Is  about  to  blot  it  out  with  bis  brush) 
I  will  destroy  it. 

(LANCRET  catches  his  arm) 

LANCRET 

No! 

COLUM BIN'S  (passionately) 
Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

My  child, 
Would  you  have  had  me  ? 

COLUMBINE 

Oh,  fastidious  workman  ! 
*T  is  that  fierce  conscience  I  admire,  master, 
That  tries  and  burns  the  creatures  of  your  brain. 
'T  was  just  such  valiant  acts  of  regal  spendthrift 
That  made  me  love  you  first. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          35 

WATTEAU 

Child  ! 

COLUMBINE 

When  I  saw 

Kings  could  not  bribe  you  —  who  would  never 
send 

A  painting  scourged  by  your  own  soul's  re 
proach, 

To  strut  before  an  applauding  public  —  then 

I  saw  Watteau  and  loved  him. 

WATTEAU 

Woman  !  Woman  ! 
Weave  on. 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau,  you  know  how  I  desire 
The  world  for  you.    Oh,  win  it  royally 
With  no  concessions.    I  am  shy  of  him 
That  stoops  to  please  —  a  court. 

WATTEAU 

I  see.    I  see, 

Oh,  Columbine,  you  are  a  simple  version 
Of  a  mysterious  tale  whose  magic  thought 
In  words  one  syllabled  is  written  large 
In  a  child's  primer. 


36          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

'T  was  a  god  I  loved. 

WATTEAU 

Or  rather,  the  Court  Painter. 

COLUMBINE 

Court  Painter  ?    No  ! 

I  know  him  not.    But  Watteau,  scornful,  splen 
did, 

In  rags,  half  famished,  with  the  eyes  that  look 
Through,  through  —  till  I  feel  helpless  as  the  air, 
Transparent,  simple  — 

WATTEAU 

Simple  as  the  air, 
But  yet  —  how  subtle  ! 

COLUMBINE 

Now  you  have  grown  precious 
Of  work  you  value  not.    Like  other  men  ! 
How  I  should  love  you  if  with  one  bold  stroke  — 
But   men  are   cowards.    Yet   I  would   have  you 

brave  ! 

Watteau  —  I  promise.    If  you  lose  it  all, 
The  Court,  the  favor,  here  is  Columbine  ! 
Yours,  yours  !    All  yours  ! 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          37 

WATTEAU 

I  will  not  take  your  promise. 
I  have  given  you  so  much.    Take  back  the  word 
By  my  free  gift  that  otherwise  your  hand 
Will   filch  from  my   soul's  casket  —  when  all 's 

done. 

Helplessly  intricate  !    And  yet  so  plain  — 
As   complex  things  all  are   when  once  they  are 

learned. 

You  are  not  simple  enough  to  evade  my  wit 
Even   though  't  is  slow.    I  give  you  back  your 

word, 

One  truth  —  in  spite  of  you  —  as  one  would  give 
To  a  child  a  priceless  gift  he  values  not  — 
In  case  you  should  go  up  to  it  —  and  bewail 
How  little  you  have  of  honor.    Now  all 's  plain. 
And  I  '11  lose  all,  and  you  shall  pledge  your  faith 
To    the    Court    Painter.    Lancret — here's    the 

brush.    (Pointing  to  his  own  portrait} 
Now  blot  it  out. 

LANCRET 

I  will  not. 

WATTEAU 

Columbine  ? 


3  8          THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

No  !  No  !   I  dare  not. 

WATTEAU 

What  —  are  you  afraid  ? 

COLUMBINE 

Let  only  him  destroy  it  who  has  made. 

WATTEAU 

Oh,  Columbine  !    God  made  you  for  the  truth  ! 
You    are    so    explicit.     Wherefore     weave    and 

weave  — 

So  obvious,  so  cunning  !    Ask  me  straight 
For  the  thing  you  want  of  me.     Let 's  have  the 

truth. 

Give  me  but  that.    Just  for  a  moment  lay 
Your  soul  whole  in  my  hands  in  a  plain  speech. 
Be  just  for  once  clear  and  articulate, 
Out  of  God's  mouth  as  when  he  spoke  you  first, 
So  I  may  hear  your  music.    Say,  "  Watteau, 
I  love  this  boy  here,  and  I  would  have 
The  world  for  him  and   me.    The  world,  Wat 
teau, 

That  means  so  much  to  us  and  is  to  you  — 
Well  —  treasure  also.    Pray  you  give  it  me." 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          39 

COLUMBINE 

You  do  mistake.    I  do  not  want  the  world. 

WATTEAU 

Why,  then,  you  almost  spoil  my  faith  in  God, 

Who,  being  perfect,  let  his  hand  go  astray 

And    spoiled    you    in    the    making.     Was    it   so 

hard 
To    fashion    you    more    smoothly  ?     Wherefore 

break  us 

To  such  discredit  ?    Maker  of  us  all, 
We  do  beseech  Thee  for  a  perfectness. 
Oh,  Architect  of  sighs,  doubt,  and  disgust, 
Builder  of  broken  bodies  and  of  souls 
That  bear  the  blemish  of  Thy  hand,  —  no,  no, 
I  will  not  think  upon  the  bruised  world, 
That  like  the  serpent  shines  beneath  Thy  heel, 
Accursed  and  beautiful,  afflicted,  fair, 
Bright  and  vindictive.    Rather  will  I  set 
My  hand  to  make  perfection  —  if  I  may. 
Be  perfect  as  you  are  fair.    Say,  u  Give  it  me." 
Come,   speak   the   words  !     You   will   not,   even 

so? 

How  I  desire  this  honor  for  you,  child. 
Is  it  so  hard  ?   What,  even  as  a  gift 
Bought  with  no  purchase  money  of  your  own 
But  my  own  blood  ? 


4o          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

I  pray  you,  give  it  me. 

(WATTEAU  dashes  out  the  face  of  the  portrait 
with  his  brush) 

WATTEAU 

Vanitas  vanitatum  !    Let  it  pass. 
\_A  PAGE  enters'] 

PAGE 
The  queen. 

[QUEEN  enters  with  her  LADY-IN-WAITING] 

QUEEN 

Monsieur  Watteau,  I  come  at  last 
To  see  my  portrait. 

(She  pauses  before  LANCRET'S  painting) 
It  is  changed. 

WATTEAU 

Yes,  madam. 

QUEEN 

How  different !    Yet  —  I  congratulate  you. 
That  touch  !    How  full  of  you  ! 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    41 

THE    LADY 

Your  majesty, 
The  likeness  is  most  perfect. 

QUEEN 

Watteau  ?   yourself? 
Does  it  give  you  pleasure,  sir  ? 

WATTEAU 

It  is  well  done. 

QUEEN 

That  bold  technique  !    A  real  Watteau  ! 

WATTEAU 

No,  madam. 

QUEEN 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

WATTEAU 

'T  was  not  my  hand  that  did  it. 
Lancret,  a  friend. 

(Points  to  his  own  painting) 

There,  madam,  is  my  portrait. 
A  real  Watteau. 


42          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

QUEEN 

What,  sir,  would  you  insult  me  ? 
Blot  out  my  likeness  ! 

LANCRET 

Madam,  pardon  me. 

He  compliments  you.    To  his  fastidious  taste 
It  was  not  worthy  of  you. 

COLUMBINE 

Lancret ! 

LANCRET 

Dear  madam, 

Genius  is  whimsical.    In  its  own  ways 
It  praises  or  dispraises.    'T  was  a  dream  — 
Perfection  —  took  the  breath  with  loveliness. 
Unheard  of  beauty  !    To  his  fastidious  taste 
It  was  not  worthy  of  you. 

QUEEN 

Watteau,  Watteau ! 

That  was  a  savage  compliment.    But  still  — 
Luxembourg  waits  for  you.    The  Sistine  Chapel 
Is  restless  for  angels  and  the  great  Madonna 
I  bid  you  paint  there. 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          43 
WATTE AU  (holding  out  the  slippers) 

Madam,  upon  these 
I  have  drawn  that  great  Madonna. 

QUEEN  (taking  the  shoes) 

Satin  slippers ! 
What  butterflies  ! 

THE  LADY  v 

What  wreaths  ! 

QUEEN 

What  pretty  Cupids. 

WATTEAU 

I  painted  a  Madonna  on  the  sole. 

(  QUEEN  turns  them  over) 

QUEEN 

A  Madonna  !    'T  is  a  wonder. 

WATTEAU 

Madam  —  I  spent 

The  dreams  of  many  days  and  wakeful  nights 
Upon  that  little  shoe. 


44          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

QUEEN 

But  this  is  spendthrift ! 
One  promenade  upon  a  velvet  carpet 
Would  spoil  the  glory  of  it. 

WATTEAU 

Therefore,  madam, 
I  wrought  them  as  they  are. 

QUEEN 

They  are  just  my  size. 

WATTEAU 

The  smallest  shoe  in  the  kingdom. 

QUEEN 

I  '11  try  them  on. 

WATTEAU 

Pardon  me,  madam. 

QUEEN 

So  — 

THE  LADY 

Monsieur  is  honored. 
May  I  suggest  thrice  blessed  is  that  man 
That  makes  the  queen  a  welcome  gift  ? 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          45 

QUEEN 

And  why  ? 

WATTEAU 

They  are  not  meant  for  —  this. 

QUEEN 

I  see  !    I  see  ! 

(Reaching  him  her  purse) 
Well,  Monsieur  Watteau  —  was  it  meant  for  this  ? 

WATTEAU 
No,  madam. 

QUEEN 

Nay  —  but,  man,  't  is  the  queen's  purse, 
With  a  thousand  francs. 

WATTEAU 

About  this  little  shoe 
Is  the  sweet  savor  of  my  midnight  dreams. 

QUEEN 

I  triple  it. 

WATTEAU  (holding  shoe) 

Oh,  perfect  only  thing 
That  making  I  have  loved,  fragile  and  fair, 
I  '11  keep  you  —  so. 


46          THE    SHOES    THAT    DANCED 

QUEEN 

But  I  will  have  it !    Sir  — 
Five  thousand  francs. 

WATTEAU  {fondling  shoes) 
Sweet  dream. 

QUEEN 

Then  twenty  thousand  ! 

WATTEAU 

I  hear  the  Cupids  play  their  little  harps. 

QUEEN 

Is  this  another  compliment,  Watteau  ? 
It  savors  of  insult,  like  the  other.    Nay  — 
A  fortune  !    Name  your  price  ! 

WATTEAU 

Never  —  though  I 

Am  hounded  with  debts  clean  to  the  very  door 
Of  the  debtor's  prison. 

QUEEN 

Oh,  I  hate  this  man  ! 

Give  me  the  shoe.    I  say  —  the  shoe  I  '11  have. 
A  title  —  would  you  ?    Why  —  do  you  not  know 


THE    SHOES   THAT    DANCED          47 

What  't  is  to  raise  the  enmity  of  queens  ? 
Down,  down,  you  dog !    And  lick  my  hand  !    A 

duke, 
This  will  I  make  you. 

WATTEAU  (with  a  smile) 
Ah? 

QUEEN 

Does  he  not  hear  ? 

Sir  —  I  command  you.  What,  would  you  be 
hanged  ? 

I  Jll  move  the  powers  of  Heaven  and  Earth  and 
Hell 

To  get  these  slippers.    What  I  want,  I  '11  have. 

You  will  not  take  rewards  ?    Then  I  will  strike. 

I  banish  you  from  court.    Our  doors  in  vain 

Shall  plead  for  the  wings  of  angels.  Not  a 
dream 

Of  Watteau's  shall  come  true  about  the  walls 

Of  the  Sistine  Chapel.    Go  and  face  despair, 

Hunger  and  cold,  imprisonment,  disaster, 

Even  as  of  old  before  I  favored  you, 

Dependent !  Slave !  That  shall  be  scourged  in 
deed 

By  my  own  hand !    Do  you  deny  your  queen  ? 

Sell  me  the  shoes  —  or  I  will  ruin  you  ! 


48    THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED 

WATTEAU 

You  cannot  pay  their  price ! 

QUEEN 

I  cannot  ?  What  ? 

Have  I  not  coffers  of  gold,  rich  diadems, 
Worth  a  king's  ransom,  fit  to  buy  my  whims  ? 
Is  France  so  poor  ? 

WATTEAU 

Ah,  Lady,  give  me  then 

That  gold  whereof  the  streets  of  Heaven  are  made, 
On  which  the  steps  of  angels  fall  as  sweet 
As  silver  rain  over  a  shining  air, 
You    cannot    buy    from    me    these    shoes,    Oh, 

Queen  J 
France  is  so  poor. 

QUEEN 

Ah,  now,  I  see!  I  see! 
Artist  —  and  poet !    Such  folk  must  be  paid 
In  magic  coin.    You  are  intricate 
With  your  strange  courtesies  of  finer  worlds. 
Forgive  me,  sir,  that  am  but  a  Queen  on  Earth — 
That  small  and  vulgar  province  in  Great  Space. 
I  am  not  skilled  to  the  urbanities 
Of  starry  cities  —  the  great  gracious  ways 


THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED          49 

Of  the  far  capitals  of  noble  thought. 

Pardon  the  rustic  and  her  bourgeoisie  ! 

She  will  learn  manners.    I  am  rich,  Monsieur  — 

And  I  will  pay,  but  in  more  subtle-wise 

Than  gold  or  titles.    I  will  give  a  treasure 

Great  Kings  sigh  for  in  vain.    I  pray  you,  sir, 

Sell  me  the  shoes  —  and  I  will  pay  —  a  kiss. 

WATTEAU 

That,  gracious  lady,  is  too  much  to  pay. 

I  cannot  tell  my  Lord,  on  the  Day  of  Judg 
ment, 

That  I  have  stolen  their  treasure  from  Great 
Kings. 

QUEEN 

Why,  man  —  I  am  the  queen  ! 

WATTEAU 

And  I  —  Watteau. 

QUEEN 

So.    Then  I  will  be  mild.    I  have  behaved 
Like  a  child  that  cried  for  a  star.    Is  it  so  high  ? 
But  you  can  give  it,  like  the  god  you  are. 
I  will  not  barter.    I  will  beg.    Monsieur  — 
Give  me  the  shoes. 


50          THE   SHOES    THAT   DANCED 

COLUMBINE 

Watteau  —  give  me  the  shoes. 

WATTEAU 

Oh,  Columbine,  so  spun  of  sorceries 
You  could  not  trust  me,  even  at  the  end, 
But  needs  must  win  by  guile  what  I  would  give  ! 
Ah,  child  —  how  fair  you  are  !  Take  them. 
(Giving  her  the  shoes) 

Thereon 
Has  breathed  my  soul.    It  is  my  masterpiece. 

COLUMBINE 

I  '11  try  them  on. 

(Putting  one  on) 
Oh,  see  my  darling  foot  ! 

LANCRET 

Watteau  —  oh,  master  ! 

WATTEAU 

She  is  of  little  worth. 
And  yet — Lancret — we  needs  must  love  her.  So  ? 

COLUMBINE  (with  both  shoes  on) 

Ha — ah  !   I  'm  Columbine  !   But  these  are  shoes 
In  which  to  run.    My  feet  feel  happy  in  them. 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    51 

WATTEAU 

They  are  full  of  thoughts  of  you. 

COLUMBINE 

I  feel  like  flying. 

WATTEAU 

The  wings  of  the  butterflies  wrought  in  the  satin 
Will  bear  you  up. 

COLUMBINE 

Oh,  how  I  want  to  dance ! 

WATTEAU 

You  feel  the  tunes  the  little  cherubs  play 
Upon  their  harps.    Hush  —  somebody  is  crying  ! 
It  is  the  tears  of  Watteau's  lost  Madonna. 

COURTIN 
He  's  mad ! 

COLUMBINE  (dancing  and  singing) 
Blossoms  floating  in  the  wine  ! 
Every  one  loves  Columbine  ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance !    Dance ! 


52          THE   SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

QUEEN 

Lancret,  come  to  the  court  to-morrow. 
I  make  you  Painter  to  the  Queen. 

COLUMBINE  (victoriously) 

Lancret ! 

QUEEN 

Monsieur  Watteau,  I  bid  you  an  adieu. 

(She  and  her  Lady  sweep  to  the  door) 
I  go  from  your  door.    But  when  I  go,  monsieur, 
Hunger  and  Desolation  and  Despair 
Shall  enter  in.    I  pray  you,  see  this  man, 
Who  better  loves  a  foolish  Columbine 
Than  a  Madonna  !    When  the  centuries 
Shall  loose   their  tongues   on    him,  their   speech 

shall  be 

Monsieur  Watteau,  great  Painter  and  great  Fool. 
(She  goes  out  with  her  Lady) 

COLUMBINE  (in  LANCRET'S  arms) 
But  oh,  Lancret,  Lancret ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance,  Columbine. 

Upon  those  little  satin  shoes  are  painted 
What  made  night  perfect  and  on  a  barren  day 


THE  SHOES  THAT  DANCED    53 

Shed  light.    Dance,  dance,  as  Judith  danced  of  old 
With  the  head  of  Holofernes. 

(COLUMBINE  dances  and  sings) 

COLUMBINE 

Blossoms  perish  in  the  snow. 
Columbine  won't  kiss  Pierrot ! 
(Her  dance  increases  in  wildness.    Her  skirts 
glitter  around  her) 

WATTEAU 

Oh,  whither  ?    Immortality  and  Fame, 
Fortune  and  High  Endeavor  sketched  thereon  ! 

COLUMBINE  (singing) 

Blossoms  fade  and  we  forget, 
She  was  fairer  than  Pierrette  / 

WATTEAU 

Whither  ?  ye  flowering  wreaths  and  little  Cupids, 
That  play  through  satin  all  your  subtle  tunes  ? 
Oh,  whither  ?  roses  !   whither  ?  butterflies  ! 
Dance  —  dance  ! 

(COLUMBINE  sings  and  dances) 

COLUMBINE 

Blossoms  lead  the  April  in, 
Columbine  flounced  Harlequin. 


54          THE    SHOES   THAT   DANCED 

WATTEAU 

Whither  ?  oh,  heart  of  Watteau,  wrought  among 
The    blossoming    wreaths    and    all    ye    precious 

dreams 

That  made  it  golden  !    Rushing  of  vague  wings, 
Haloes  and  tears  of  Mary  —  all  of  these 
That  shone  in  it  so  long.    Dance ! 

COLUMBINE  (faltering) 

I  am  tired  ! 
And  —  oh,  Watteau  ! 

WATTEAU 

Dance  !   dance  !    I  bid  you  dance  ! 
(She  dances  again,  more  passionately  than  ever) 
Forever  and  forever  !    O  Virgin  Mary  !  — 
Dance  !   dance  !    Convey  my  visions  to  the  dust. 
Efface  my  dreams  in  darkness.   Oh,  the  mad  whirl 
In  which  they  all  go  out !    Dance  them  away  — 
Even  to  destruction  and  to  utter  death. 


THE   RIDERS 

BUT  if  I  ride  with  you  to-night, 

Will  you  bring  me  back  by  early  light  ? 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

How  can  I  leave  my  days  of  balm, 
My  perfumed,  sweet,  enchanted  calm  ? 
The  old  life  holds  me  like  a  charm. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

My  tranquil  days  are  cool  and  fair, 
I  stitch  my  seam  and  plait  my  hair, 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 
My  broideries  are  silken  fine ! 
Oh,  look,  beneath  this  hand  of  mine, 
Creep  yellow  grapes  and  muscadine, 
And  painted  faces  through  them  shine, 
And  golden  flagons  for  the  wine  — 
But  yet  I  sicken,  I  fail,  I  pine. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Of  innocence  I  am  the  daughter. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 
Soft  as  a  lily  under  water 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 


56  THE   RIDERS 

I  poise  all  day  beneath  a  stream ! 
Sometimes  a  wandering  face  will  gleam, 
Hover  aloft  and  pass  and  beam, 
Looking  a  moment  in  the  stream, 
Or  I  hear  voices  in  a  dream, 
While  I  swing  limpidly  under  the  water ! 
Soft  and  slow  is  time  to  me  — 
Of  innocence  the  snow-white  daughter  ! 
(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

I  have  dashed  my  brow  against  a  stone 
That  I  might  see  the  stars  at  noon, 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

For  I  have  not  seen  the  face  of  night  — 
I  sit  at  dusk  by  candle  light 
In  a  small  chamber,  clean  and  white ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Will  you  take  me  to  the  strange  black  town 
Where  rushing  men  heave  up  and  down  ? 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 
I  am  so  terribly  alone  ! 
I  want  their  bread  that  is  not  my  own. 
I  will  eat  thereof  though  it  be  but  stone ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 


THE    RIDERS  57 

Will  you  take  me  up  to  the  top  of  the  steeple 
From  which  the  Devil  showed  the  people  ? 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Those  kingdoms  whirl  like  scarlet  sand 
Blown  at  sunset  across  the  land  ! 
I  would  catch  the  red  dust  in  my  hand  ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Will  you  take  me  through  the  flames  of  Hell  ? 
If  it  burns  as  bright  as  I  've  heard  tell 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

I  would  fain  be  burned,  so  chill  I  go 
As  a  dreaming  wraith  of  pure,  cold  snow  ! 
On  a  blast  of  fire  my  soul  would  blow ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Will  you  take  my  soul  to  Paradise  ? 
Warm  with  its  lovely  sight  my  eyes  ? 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Where  two  vast  angels  are  spread  abroad, 
And  none  shall  pass  them,  saith  the  Lord  ! 
But  I  will  take  to  my  breast  the  sword. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Will  you  take  me  up  to  Heaven's  gate  ? 
The  angels  will  lend  me  a  robe  of  state ! 
(Ride,  quoth  he.) 


58  THE    RIDERS 

Wonderful  garments  manifold ! 
I  would  dance  before  them  in  garb  of  gold, 
And  the  strong  great  angels,  wise  and  old, 
Would  laugh  to  see  me  leap  so  bold  ! 
(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Will  you  take  me  through  the  wind  and  fire 
To  the  land  I  know  not  but  desire  ? 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Where  stinging  tears  they  all  must  weep, 
Like  cataracts  their  souls  shall  leap ! 
Where  grief  is  deep  and  joy  is  deep 
And  smooth  as  ivory  is  sleep ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Strange  times  have  galloped  through  my  mood ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 
Old  cities  dance  along  my  blood  ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

'T  is  Sodom  has  an  adder's  tongue  — 
But  oh,  what  songs  has  Venice  sung  ! 
With  piercing  Troy  have  I  been  stung, 
Gomorrah  through  my  heart  has  swung ! 
'T  was  so  with  Christ  when  he  was  young ! 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 


THE    RIDERS  59 

Mother,  I  ride  with  him  to-night ! 
"  My  child,  you  shall  not  leave  my  sight  !  " 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

But  through  the  dark  they  rode  away  !. 
Whither  they  went  let  angels  say. 
They  both  came  back  at  the  break  of  day. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

When  she  came  back  her  breast  was  torn, 
The  sweetness  from  her  lips  was  worn. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Her  hands  were  pitiful  with  scars  ! 
They  came  from  plucking  at  old  wars 
That  rocked  through  Hell  like  meteors. 

(Ride,  quoth  he.) 

Her  breast  was  wounded  with  the  sword 
That  keeps  the  garden  of  the  Lord. 

(Grieve  !  quoth  he.) 
But  underneath  her  cloak  of  brown 
Were  pale  glints  of  a  golden  gown. 

(Shine  !   quoth  he.) 
This  way,  that  way,  wisdom  lies. 
She  had  eaten  the  fruit  and  was  made  wise. 
Now  in  her  calm  and  smiling  eyes 
Laughed  the  flowers  of  Paradise  ! 

(Peace,  quoth  he.) 


WHILE   LOVELINESS   GOES   BY 

SOMETIMES  when  all  the  world  seems  gray  and  dun 

And  nothing  beautiful,  a  voice  will  cry, 

"  Look  out,  look  out !    Angels  are  drawing  nigh  !  " 

Then  my  slow  burdens  leave  me,  one  by  one, 

And  swiftly  does  my  heart  arise  and  run 

Even  like  a  child,  while  loveliness  goes  by  — 

And  common  folk  seem  children  of  the  sky, 

And  common  things  seem  shaped  of  the  sun. 

Oh,  pitiful !  that  I  who  love  them,  must 

So  soon  perceive  their  shining  garments  fade  ! 

And  slowly,  slowly,  from  my  eyes  of  trust 

Their  flaming  banners  sink  into  a  shade  ! 

While  this  earth's  sunshine  seems  the  golden  dust 

Slow  settling  from  that  radiant  cavalcade. 


SWEET  WEARINESS 

FATIGUE  itself  may  be  a  pleasant  thing 
And  weariness  be  silken,  soft  and  fine  ! 
Upon  my  eyes  its  little  vapors  shine, 
Trailing  me  softly  like  a  colored  wing ! 
Tender  as  when  beloved  voices  sing 
It  steals  upon  me  and  with  touch  divine 
Lulls  all  my  senses  till  each  thought  of  mine 
Is  hushed  to  quiet,  unremembering. 
Oh,  weariness  thrice  dear,  so  frailly  spun 
Of  ended  pleasure  that  still  shines  and  glows; 
Oh,  weariness,  thrice  dear  !  What  have  I  done 
To  earn  this  delicate  and  deep  repose  ? 
Child,  thou  hast  worshiped  at  the  setting  sun 
And  looked  long,  long,  upon  the  opening  rose. 


THE   WOUND 

WOUNDED  am  I,  yet  happier  —  happier  far 
Than  they  who  have  not  felt  the  precious  sting  ! 
Poor  feet  that  bleed  not  with  this  wandering ! 
Poor  hands  that  burn  not,  plucking  at  a  star ! 
Poor  hearts  unblessed  and  whole  !   I  bear  the  scar 
Of  a  too  piercing  loveliness.    The  thing 
Hung  out  of  reach  I  touched,  and  now  I  sing 
Mad  with  delight,  more  blessed  than  others  are. 
For  since  the  blushing  and  ethereal  hour 
When  loveliness  upon  my  heart  was  born, 
When  I  was  stricken  by  her  magic  power, 
I  run  —  I  run  —  wild,  ecstasied,  forlorn, 
For  beauty,  when  I  go  to  pluck  her  flower, 
Pierces  my  willing  bosom  with  a  thorn. 


A  SONNET  FOR  THE  EARTH 

WHEN  I  am  weary  for  delight  and  spent, 
Even  as  a  bird  that  tries  too  long  its  wings 
Will  nest  awhile  amid  the  grass  and  sings, 
So  I  drop  downward  from  the  wonderment 
Of  timelessness  and  space,  in  which  were  blent 
The  wind,  the  sunshine  and  the  wanderings 
Of  all  the  planets  —  to  the  little  things 
That  are  my  grass  and  flowers  and  am  content. 

Or  if  in  flight  my  wings  should  beat  so  far 
From  the  kind  grass  that  is  so  cool  and  deep 
That  it  must  poise  among  the  winds  on  high  — 
Yet  will  I  sing  to  thee  from  star  to  star, 
Piercing  thy  sunshine,  and  will  always  keep 
A  song  for  thee  amid  the  farthest  sky. 


MY  FOOLISH  DEEDS 

WHEN  I,  before  the  altars  of  repose, 
Invited  Slumber,  she  refused  to  stay, 
But  with  a  broken  heart  she  turned  away, 
Astonished  quite.    Among  the  flaunting  shows 
That  circled  round,  she  perished  like  a  rose 
Cast  among  flames.    Oh,  bring  her  back  —  I  pray  ! 
Then  sternly  to  my  heart  a  voice  said,  "  Nay, 
Thou  canst  not  have  her  —  tearfully  she  goes." 

God  might  not  join  us,  —  for  gorgeous,  bright, 
Adorned,  conspicuous,  sure,  without  disguise, 
Strangely  illumined  with  derisive  light 
They  danced  —  they  danced  !     Oh,  then  I  was 

made  wise  ! 

My  foolish  deeds,  flaming  before  my  eyes, 
Denied  me  slumber  all  the  livelong  night. 


SONNETS  FOR  NEW  YORK 
CITY 

I 

NEW  YORK  AT  SUNRISE 

WHEN  with  her  clouds  the  early  dawn  illumes 
Our   doubtful   streets,  wistful  they  grow  and 

mild  ; 

As  if  a  sleeping  soul  grew  happy  and  smiled, 
The  whole  dark  city  radiantly  blooms. 
Pale  spires  lift  their  hands  above  the  glooms 
Like  a  resurrection,  delicately  wild, 
And  flushed  with  slumber  like  a  little  child, 
Under  a  mist,  shines  forth  the  innocent  Tombs. 
Thus  have  I  seen  it  from  a  casement  high. 
As  unsubstantial  as  a  dream  it  grows. 
Is  this  Manhattan,  virginal  and  shy, 
That  in  a  cloud  so  rapturously  glows  ? 
Ethereal,  frail,  and  like  an  opening  rose, 
I  see  my  city  with  an  enlightened  eye. 


66       SONNETS  FOR  NEW  YORK  CITY 

II 

A  POLITICAL  "BOSS" 

HAS  he  no  country  ?  Is  he  of  alien  breed  ? 
Is  this  land  not  his  home  ?   Oh,  exiled  one  ! 
Stranger  to  his  own  kind,  where  does  he  run  ? 
How  he  has  shamed  us,  for  the  world  to  read  ! 
Oh,  carrion,  prowling  where  this  people  bleed, 
Grown  fat  upon  disaster,  hide  from  the  sun  ! 
A  scornful  nation  asks,  what  has  he  done 
With  the  public  trust,  the  honor,  and  the  need. 
Not  him  with  glorious  hand  will  we  indite, 
Patriot,  Statesman,  in  the  Hall  of  Fame, 
Nor  will  we  let  him  flee  into  the  night 
Of  safe  oblivion  !   But  oh  —  that  name 
For  our  sons*  sons  a  moving  hand  shall  write 
In  scarlet  letters  on  the  walls  of  Shame. 


SONNETS  FOR  NEW  YORK  CITY       67 

III 

SHAME  ON  THEE,  O  MANHATTAN 

SHAME  on  thee,  O  Manhattan,  whom  I  love ! 
And  shame  on  me  that  I  have  slept  away 
So  many  years  while  thy  feet  went  astray  ! 

0  Thou  —  that  should'st  be  white  as  any  dove, 
Thou   Scarlet   Woman !      Is   there  no  voice   to 

move  — 

No  hand  to  smite  us  ?    Even  for  this  I  pray  — 
Some  terrible  scourging  that  we  have  let  the  day 
Darken  around  us  while  we  saw  thee  rove. 
Last  night  I  heard  thee  cry.    Thy  wandering  feet 
Went  bleeding  by  me.    On  thy  ruined  breast 

1  saw  thee  nurse  a  feeding  child  of  flame  ! 
Desolate,  gorgeous,  frantic  along  the  street ! 

Ah,  how  I  blushed  in  the  dark  that  through  my 

rest 
I  felt  the  burning  garments  of  thy  shame. 


68       SONNETS  FOR  NEW  YORK  CITY 

IV 

THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  LIFE 

THIS  day  into  the  fields  my  steps  are  led. 

I  cannot  heal  me  there  !    Row  after  row, 

Thousands  of  daisies  radiantly  blow. 

They  have  not  brought   from    Heaven  my  daily 

bread  ! 

But  they  are  like  a  prayer  too  often  said. 
I  have  forgot  their  meaning,  and  I  go 
From  the  cold  rubric  of  their  gold  and  snow, 
And  the  calm  ritual,  all  uncomforted. 
I  want  the  faces  !   faces  !  remote  and  pale, 
That  surge  along  the  city  streets  !  The  flood 
Of  reckless  ones,  haggard  and  spent  and  frail, 
Excited,  hungry  !   In  this  other  mood 
'T  is  not  the  words  of  the  faith  for  which  I  ail, 
But  to  plunge  in  the  fountain  of  its  living  blood. 


TO    A   NEW   YORK   SHOP-GIRL 
DRESSED    FOR   SUNDAY 

TO-DAY  I  saw  the  shop-girl  go 

Down  gay  Broadway  to  meet  her  beau. 

Conspicuous,  splendid,  conscious,  sweet, 
She  spread  abroad  and  took  the  street. 

And  all  that  niceness  would  forbid, 
Superb,  she  smiled  upon  and  did. 

Let  other  girls,  whose  happier  days 
Preserve  the  perfume  of  their  ways, 

Go  modestly.    The  passing  hour 
Adds  splendor  to  their  opening  flower. 

But  from  this  child  too  swift  a  doom 
Must  steal  her  prettiness  and  bloom, 

Toil  and  weariness  hide  the  grace 
That  pleads  a  moment  from  her  face. 

So  blame  her  not  if  for  a  day 

She  flaunts  her  glories  while  she  may. 


7o          TO  A  NEW  YORK  SHOP-GIRL 

She  half  perceives,  half  understands, 
Snatching  her  gifts  with  both  her  hands. 

The  little  strut  beneath  the  skirt 
That  lags  neglected  in  the  dirt, 

The  indolent  swagger  down  the  street  — 
Who  can  condemn  such  happy  feet ! 

Innocent !   vulgar  —  that 's  the  truth  ! 
Yet  with  the  darling  wiles  of  youth  ! 

The  bright,  self-conscious  eyes  that  stare 
With  such  hauteur,  beneath  such  hair  ! 
Perhaps  the  men  will  find  me  fair  ! 

Charming  and  charmed,  flippant,  arrayed, 
Fluttered  and  foolish,  proud,  displayed, 
Infinite  pathos  of  parade  ! 

The  bangles  and  the  narrowed  waist  — 
The  tinseled  boa  —  forgive  the  taste  ! 
Oh,  the  starved  nights  she  gave  for  that, 
And  bartered  bread  to  buy  her  hat  ! 

She  flows  before  the  reproachful  sage 
And  begs  her  woman's  heritage. 


TO  A  NEW  YORK  SHOP-GIRL          71 

Dear  child,  with  the  defiant  eyes, 
Insolent  with  the  half  surmise 
We  do  not  quite  admire,  I  know 
How  foresight  frowns  on  this  vain  show ! 

And  judgment,  wearily  sad,  may  see 
No  grace  in  such  frivolity. 

Yet  which  of  us  was  ever  bold 

To  worship  Beauty,  hungry  and  cold  ! 

Scorn  famine  down,  proudly  expressed 
Apostle  to  what  things  are  best. 

Let  him  who  starves  to  buy  the  food 
For  his  soul's  comfort  find  her  good, 

Nor  chide  the  frills  and  furbelows 
That  are  the  prettiest  things  she  knows. 

Poet  and  prophet  in  God's  eyes 
Make  no  more  perfect  sacrifice. 

Who  knows  before  what  inner  shrine 
She  eats  with  them  the  bread  and  wine  ? 

Poor  waif !    One  of  the  sacred  few 
That  madly  sought  the  best  they  knew  ! 


7z          TO  A  NEW  YORK  SHOP-GIRL 

Dear  —  let  me  lean  my  cheek  to-night 
Close,  close  to  yours.    Ah,  that  is  right. 

How  warm  and  near !    At  last  I  see 
One  beauty  shines  for  thee  and  me. 

So  let  us  love  and  understand  — 
Whose  hearts  are  hidden  in  God's  hand. 

And  we  will  cherish  your  brief  Spring 
And  all  its  fragile  flowering. 

God  loves  all  prettiness,  and  on  this 
Surely  his  angels  lay  their  kiss. 


FORGETFULNESS 

SHE  was  so  recent.    She  had  not  yet  learned 
The  sweet  observances  that  make  their  days 
Beautiful  to  the  angels.    She  went  dim 
Among  their  shining,  and  unoccupied 
Wistfully  watched  their  pastimes.    Then  came 

one 
Who  brought  a  fruit. 

"  Eat  thou,"  the  splendor  said. 
"  I  will  not  eat,"  said  she. 

For  in  his  eyes 
She  saw  forgetfulness  and  was  afraid. 

Then  to  her  love  on  earth  an  angel  came. 
"  We  cannot  heal  her  of  her  listlessness 
Nor  teach  her  the  new  ways,  and  memory 
Grieves  her  with  tears.  She  will  not  eat  the  fruit 
That  makes  us  wise  and  shows  us  to  forget." 

Dark  is  the  road  that  leads  to  Heaven  for  one 
Who  is  not  dead.    No  angel  goes  with  him. 
Blind  and  with  torn,  vague  feet  and  all  alone 
He  came  among  them.    Through  the  shining 
place 


74  FORGETFULNESS 

They  saw  him  rush  and  saw  the  scarlet  blood 
Drip  through  the  brightness.    To  his  Love  he 

came, 

And,  lifting  in  his  haggard  hands  her  cheek, 
He  kissed  her  on  the  mouth  and  showed  the 

fruit 
The  Angel  brought  him  —  terrible  and  sweet. 

"  Eat,  Love,"  he  said. 
And  she,  that  loved  him,  ate. 
Then  smiled  at  him  with  unremembering  eyes, 
And  with  her  heavenly  comrades  turned  away. 
With  bleeding  feet  back  to  the  earth  he  came, 
And  through  the  barren  days  remembered  her. 


THE   PURITAN 

THE  Preacher  in  his  seat 

Spoke  a  new  word  to-day. 

He  shook  the  rock  beneath  my  feet 

And  left  uncertain  clay. 

His  tale  was  all  of  ease, 

Of  tenderness  alone. 

He  was  not  there  when  Moses  struck 

A  water  from  a  stone. 

Could  I  but  speak  the  word, 
The  skies  should  not  let  fall 
Celestial  honey  on  my  lips 
When  they  had  need  of  gall. 

He  preached  a  silken  word 

To  fearful  men  and  vain. 

They  want  the  sweet  dews  of  our  Lord 

But  not  the  hurricane. 

I'll  have  Him  all  in  all  — 
Beneath  His  feet  be  cast ! 
I  have  a  heart  that  can  endure 
The  glory  of  the  blast ! 


76  THE  PURITAN 

Upon  His  breast  like  John 
They  would  escape  His  rod. 
But  I  would  sweat  as  Jacob  did 
And  wrestle  with  my  God. 

They  are  confused,  perplexed  ! 
They  say  there  is  no  sin. 
That  Hand  that  fashioned  Paradise 
Did  slip  the  serpent  in. 

They  are  afraid  of  Death, 
I  scorn  their  fluttering  brood. 
Why  I  could  die  with  a  great  laugh, 
Declaring  that  't  was  good  ! 

They  say  these  things  are  dreams  ! 
Truly,  they  say  not  well. 
For  that  Pale  Horse  John  tells  about 
Was  driven  by  Death  and  Hell ! 

Let  others  love  the  Lamb, 
And  seek  a  gentle  Lord. 
I  better  like  that  honest  God 
That  came  to  bring  a  sword. 

I  have  no  love  of  ease  ! 

My  feet  are  shod  with  might  ! 


THE  PURITAN  77 

If  there 's  no  Devil  in  God's  world 
Then  what  have  I  to  fight  ? 

I  am  a  man  of  war  ! 
Such  things  I  understand : 
When  Devils  against  Cherubim 
Are  leagued  throughout  the  land. 

The  fragile  and  the  small 

In  happy  gardens  wait. 

But  with  the  Angels  of  God's  wrath 

I  will  ride  out  in  state. 

The  frail  shall  sit  and  feast ; 
Behind  safe  walls  are  they. 
Outside  I  '11  face  the  hounds  of  dread 
And  hold  its  dogs  at  bay. 

When  scarlet  Hell  heaves  up 

I  have  no  fear  at  all. 

Scarred,  I  beat  back  the  advancing  flames 

That  threaten  their  good  wall. 

They  tell  me  that  in  Heaven 
Our  Lord  will  turn  to  love, 
Calling  the  lambs  about  His  knees 
And  to  His  breast  the  dove. 


78  THE  PURITAN 

Unto  each  man  his  lust ! 
These  words  He  speaks  to  me  — 
u  /  have  set  tbee  on  a  neighing  horse^ 
For  I  have  need  of  tbee  !  " 


THE   JOURNEY 

SOME  there  are  that  melt  and  meet 
With  all  Eden  in  their  eyes. 
Irised  loves  that  flame  and  beat 
Shine  as  sweet  as  Paradise. 
And  they  look  and  they  know 
And  they  glimmer  and  they  flow 
Like  a  murmuring  in  the  water 
Or  a  melting  in  the  snow  ; 
Delicately  they  come  near, 
And  the  knowledge  in  their  eyes 
Leaves  not  any  doubt  or  fear, 
For  wise  Eden  makes  them  wise. 

Through  the  flood  and  through  the  flame, 

Hostile  roads  of  no  delight, 

Girt  with  bitterness  and  shame 

Still  our  spirits  came  aright. 

And  I  knew  thee  but  to  doubt, 

And  thy  hatred  found  me  out 

Like  a  blindness  all  about 

And  a  thunder  in  the  night. 

Still  our  bleeding  feet  would  run 

When  our  spirits  bade  them  stay, 


8o  THE  JOURNEY 

Destined  for  no  other  one, 
Doomed  to  tread  no  other  way. 

If  some  other  heart  than  mine 
Housed  thee  for  a  dream  or  two, 
If  before  some  alien  shrine 
Any  prayer  of  thine  came  true, 
If  She  broke  with  thee  the  bread 
While  I  went  uncomforted, 
I  will  love  those  hands  that  fed 
Visions  to  the  soul  of  you. 
Dreams  of  beautiful  and  rare 
I  '11  not  envy  nor  gainsay. 
.  If  her  kiss  has  kept  thee  fair 

I  '11  not  wear  that  kiss  away. 

Love  —  thou  knowest  for  a  while 
How  He  kept  my  heart  in  his  ! 
Then  I  learned  from  out  his  smile 
Love's  guile  and  its  mysteries. 
Strange  that  his  soul's  lips  should  teach 
Unto  mine  the  silvering  speech 
That  we  talk  now,  each  to  each, 

Singing  words 
That  have  flown  beyond  his  reach 

Like  homing  birds. 
Dear,  thy  feast  was  spread  so  late  ! 


THE  JOURNEY  81 

And  He  bade  my  heart  inside. 
I  was  hungry  and  I  ate  — 
Had  I  not,  I  should  have  died. 

Now  we  meet  and  now  we  know. 
Yet  —  't  is  all  so  strange  a  thing  — 
When  we  love  each  other  so 
We  cannot  forego  love's  sting  ! 
Still  our  splendid  sorrows  shine, 
And  the  bleeding  pageant  goes, 
Swinging  through  thy  heart  and  mine, 
Of  innumerable  woes. 

With  my  head  upon  thy  breast 
Still  I  fight  thee  and  contend. 
And  those  wounds  disturb  my  rest 
That  you  gave  my  heart,  —  O  Friend. 
They  that  love  in  lesser  ways 
Lesser  toils  their  love  may  prove. 
But  we  would  not  rid  our  days 
Of  the  doubts  through  which  we  rove; 
Would  not  give,  for  all  their  flowers, 
And  their  golden,  perfumed  showers, 
This  great  grievous  love  of  ours 
And  the  solemn  wars  of  love. 

By  our  hearts  that  shall  outlast 
All  the  storm  and  stress  of  men, 


82  THE  JOURNEY 

By  the  dark  ways  of  our  past 

And  the  wounds  that  grieved  us  then, 

By  the  doubts  through  which  we  bled 

By  the  faith  that  comforted, 

By  that  love  that  leaves  us  dead, 

Love  shall  raise  us  up  again. 

i  O 


THE   RETURN 

Now  what  have  I  brought  from  those  brave  lists  ? 
Love,  what  have  I  brought  to  thee  ? 
A  scanty  fame  and  my  great  shame 
That  thou  wast  there  to  see. 

I  bring  thee  only  a  broken  sword 
And  a  broken  heart  in  me  ! 
More  strong  than  I  the  war  rushed  by. 
Yet,  Love,  I  fought  for  thee. 

Maids  not  so  fair  have  better  knights 
Goodly  and  brave  to  see. 
I  would  not  have  thee  pitied  of  them 
If  thou  shouldst  mate  with  me. 

So  bid  me  hence,  my  own  true  love ! 
There  's  such  scant  worth  in  me  ! 
For  from  the  fray  I  fought  this  day 
I  bring  but  wounds  to  thee  ! 

Then  up  and  spoke  my  own  true  maid ! 
Fairest  of  all  was  she  ! 
"  Let  each  one  go  with  the  one  she  loves  ! 
Dear  love  —  I  love  but  thee  !  " 


KNOWLEDGE 

ONCE  I  thought  that  healing  came 
From  the  angels'  wings. 

Now  the  bruised  hands  of  men 
Seem  the  kindest  things. 

Once  I  thought  to  pluck  and  eat 

The  fruit  of  Paradise. 
Now  I  break  with  these  their  bread 

With  unsaddened  eyes. 

Once  I  thought  to  find  on  earth 
Love,  perfect  and  complete. 

Now  I  know  it  carries  wounds 
In  its  hands  and  feet. 


THE  ROAD  OF  SLEEP 

HE  seems  by  day  so  strong,  so  gay ! 

All  day  we  laugh  and  sing : 
This  morning  he  said,  "  My  last  night's 
sleep 

Was  such  a  pleasant  thing." 

Yet  all  the  night  and  all  the  night 

I  thought  I  heard  him  cry, 
"  My  soul  has  got  a  bitter  wound  ! 
Love,  help  me  or  I  die." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  him  and  cried, 
u  Love,  did  you  call  on  me  ?  " 
"  You  waked  me  from  a  pleasant  sleep, 
Heart  of  my  heart,"  said  he. 

Oh,  whither  leads  that  road  of  sleep 
Down  which  we  fare  alone  ? 

There  was  never  a  dream  in  all  the  night 
Could  show  where  he  was  gone. 

Some  wound  he  may  not  feel  at  all 

Because  it  lies  too  deep, 
With  a  loud  voice  cried  out  on  me  ! 

I  heard  it  in  my  sleep. 


86  THE    ROAD   OF   SLEEP 

What  strange  things  happen  in  thee,  O  Sleep  ! 

Last  night  I  heard  him  cry, 
"  My  soul  has  got  a  bitter  wound  ! 
Love,  help  me  or  I  die !  " 


SPRING  SONG 

Now  I  am  made  strange  again 
With  the  old-time  wildness. 
Spring,  that  loves  the  hearts  of  men, 
Save  me  by  thy  mildness. 

Nay,  thou  art  not  mild  ! 

Thou  art  not  any  child. 
Untamed  art  thou  and  swift  to  run, 
Exquisite — savage  as  the  sun. 
A  golden  beast,  in  jungles  of  warm  air 

I  make  my  natural  lair. 
Last  night,  in  forests  of  the  wind 
I  kept  my  watch  and  ranged. 
With  haughty  eyes  I  viewed  my  kind, 

Magnificent,  estranged. 

We  are  not  gentle  in  our  mood 

When  the  great  Spring  takes  our  blood, 

But  passionate  and  fretful, 

And  of  mankind  forgetful. 

'T  is  then  we  must  be  free  ! 
The  daughter  of  the  sky  and  wood, 
Let  no  one  lay  a  hand  on  me. 

Nay,  touch  me  not  in  Spring ! 

Hardly  look  my  way  ! 


88  SPRING    SONG 

A  glance  is  such  a  heavy  thing,  — 

I  need  no  friends  to-day  ! 

In  Summer  maybe  I  '11  grow  still 

And  bide  because  I  love. 

There  's  no  will  now  save  my  will, 

My  soul  is  fain  to  rove. 

Always  with  the  Spring 

Comes  the  thought  of  journeying, 

Mixed  with  the  subtlest  languor 

That  would  advise  me  to  the  ground 

Thereon  to  lie  as  soft  as  sound 

That  in  its  bosom  stirs. 

And  so  I  do,  —  until  at  length 

Grown  primitive  with  anger 

That  has  no  source  save  youth  and  joy  and 

strength, 

I  run  and  shout  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
And  fling  them  from  me  and  defy. 

Being  in  need  of  prey, 

Made  boastful  with  the  Spring  one  day, 

To  the  granite  rock  that  stood  my  way, 
"  Bubble,  bubble,  blue  and  gray," 

Quoth  I  ; 
u  If  I  should  touch  you  with  my  hand, 

How  you  would  quiver  from  the  land ! 


SPRING   SONG  89 

I  could  make  earth,  sky,  and  seas 
Tremble  from  me  like  the  breeze." 
Then  everything  grew  soft  and  fair 
Breathed  out  of  visible  air  ; 
And  then,  because  I  loved  it  so, 
I  let  the  whole  earth  shine  and  grow. 


IN   A   VISION    OF   THE   NIGHT 

SCENE  :   A  garden  lit  with  moonlight.    Enter  THE 
LADY,  followed  by  NANON. 

THE   LADY 

My  chamber  is  so  hot,  I  cannot  rest. 

And  when  I  wake,  I  needs  must  think.    Nanon, 

I  '11  lie  here  in  the  cool  and  sleep  awhile, 

If  sleep  may  come.    Nanon  ! 

NANON 

Dear  Lady,  yes. 

THE  LADY 

Go  get  your  lute  and  charm  my  slumber,  lest 
It  bring  me  dreams  that  should  not  visit  me. 

[Exit  NANON] 
In  visions  of  the  night —  ! 

Oh  if  my  thoughts 

Strayed  from  my  lord  and  master,  unto  him 
I  must  not  touch  —  not  even  in  a  dream  — 
And  lingered  with  him  !    I  am  afraid  !    For 

thoughts 
Do  presage  acts.    I  dare  not  think  of  him  ! 


IN    A   VISION    OF   THE    NIGHT        91 

For  thinking  —  I  must  see  !    And  if  I  see  — 

Oh  Heaven,  be  merciful  to  me  !    I  say 

That  women  are  as  helpless,  soft  and  strange, 

As  the  frail  water  clinging  upon  stone  — 

A  comfort  in  the  noonday  and  at  night 

A  very  gentle  solace.    They  abide 

In    sweet     and     delicate    ways,    and    one     shall 

smile, 
Saying,    "  She     is    with    me    always."     Yet    in 

sooth, 
Even  while  she  tarries  and  makes  him  sweet  and 

blest, 

Her  thoughts  are  from  him,  woven  in  a  cloud ; 
For  so  the  wind  obtains  her  dreams  and  she 
Is  passing  always,  not  to  be  detained. 
(She  seats  herself  on  the  garden  bench.   NANON  enters 
with  lute,  singing) 

NANON 

The  way  that  leads  to  heart's  delight  — 

//  is  not  very  long, 

As  brief  as  tears,  as  quick  as  smiles, 

And  ended  like  a  song. 

The  road  that  lies  to  heart's  desire 

Travels  not  very  far, 

There 's  never  a  stone,  there 's  never  a  brier  — 


92        IN   A   VISION   OF   THE   NIGHT 

THE  LADY 

I  do  not  like  your  song. 

NANON 

It  is  of  love  ! 

THE    LADY 

Have  you  no  ditty  that  is  soft  and  cool, 
As  cool  as  snow,  as  soft  and  still  as  sleep  ? 

NANON   (singing) 

My  thoughts  are  gathered  of  thee  as  the  wind 
Gathers  the  mist  of  the  water  and  so 
"  I  could  dream  of  thee,  an  thou  hadst  the  mind" 
be  in  the  dark  — 

THE  LADY 

Oh  peace,  Nanon  !    Have  you  not  any  song 
Would  quiet  love  as  death  would  quiet  woe  ? 

NANON 

Oh  Lady  dear,  that  song  was  never  sung. 

THE  LADY 

Be  quiet,  then.    I  '11  sleep.    And  the  good  angels 
Must  guard  my  dreams. 

(She  lies  down  on  the  bench) 


IN   A    VISION   OF   THE    NIGHT        93 

NANON  (singing) 

My  thoughts  are  gathered  of  thee  as  the  wind 
Gathers  the  mist  from  the  water  — 

(THE  LADY  sleeps,  and  NANON,  hushing  her  song, 
looks  over  the  garden) 

This  great  night 

Wherein  all  things  do  sleep,  is  terrible. 
Is  there  anything  happening  ? 

(She  walks  away  from  the  sleeping  LADY,  among  the 
trees) 

The  air  seems  full 

Of  presences  that  meet  and  mingle !    Oh  — 
Where  are  the  stars  !    Peace  —  peace  !    Unstable 
me ! 

(Strikes  her  lute  and  sings) 
I  would  have  fled — but  yet  the  heavenly  powers 

Brought  back  the  road  to  you. 
That  God  that  made  all  love,  made  this  of  ours  — 
But  we  that  share  it,  oh  what  shall  we  do  ? 

(She  thinks  she  hears  a  movement  and  starts  back 

to  the  garden  bench) 
Oh  Lady  dear  —  and  have  you  waked  so  soon  ? 

(She  sees  that  THE  LADY  slumbers) 
I  thought  I  heard  my  Lady  leave  her  couch  ! 
What  did  I  see  that  flitted  through  the  garden  ? 


94        IN   A    VISION    OF   THE   NIGHT 

Shadows,  I  think,  or  else  perhaps  two  lovers 
That  seek  a  lonely  world  of  green  delight. 
Ah  —  I  have  sighed  and  sipped  like  all  the  rest, 
Feasted  and  sorrowed,  and  would  do  so  again  ! 
Ah  me  —  what  bliss  has  taken  the  midnight  air, 
What  strange  old  sorrow  and  what  vast  despair ! 

THE  LADY  (starting  up) 

I  dreamed  that  in  a  garden  I  did  sit 
Where  I  had  sat  for  centuries,  and  sang. 
I  heard  his  echoing  steps  sound  far  away. 
He  sought  for  me  amid  the  thick  green  leaves 
And  found  my  hands  but  could  not  see  my  face. 
I  could  not  break  from  him  nor  did  I  try, 
But  crossing  the  moonlight  looked  into  his  eyes, 
And  looking,  read  that  thing  that  had  to  be. 
And  we  passed  on  and  came  together  where 
The  night  lay  softly  singing  in  the  green  — 
And  then —    Nanon  !    (As  if  in  terror!) 

NANON 

Oh  Lady  dear  —  what  now  ? 

THE  LADY 

Have  I  been  lying  quiet  all  this  while  ? 

NANON 

Dear  Lady,  yes. 


IN   A    VISION    OF   THE   NIGHT        95 

THE  LADY 

What  happens  in  the  night  ? 

NANON 

All  still.    Nothing  abroad  save  two  black  shadows 
That  through  the  purple  darkness  I  saw  flit. 

THE  LADY 

Then  go,  Nanon,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 
(NANON  goes  out  and  THE  LADY'S  lover  enters) 

THE  LADY 

What  are  you  doing  here  ?   This  time  of  night ! 

HER  LOVER 

I  was   roused   from  sleep.     I   had  so  strange  a 
dream. 

THE  LADY 

What  ?    Had  you  then  ?    I  pray  you  —  tell  your 
dream. 

HER  LOVER 

I  dreamed  that  through  a  garden  at  dusk  I  came. 

THE  LADY 

Not  that ! 


96        IN   A   VISION   OF   THE    NIGHT 

HER  LOVER 

I  heard  you  sing. 

THE  LADY 

I  am  afraid  ! 
And  what  came  then  ? 

HER  LOVER 

When  I  that  singing  heard 
I  sought  for  you  amid  the  thick  green  leaves. 

THE  LADY 

Oh  peace,  you  babbler  of  a  foolish  dream ! 

HER  LOVER 

And  found  your  hands  but  could  not  see  your  face. 

THE  LADY 

Oh  go  !    My  heart  will  break.    I  bid  you  go  ! 

HER  LOVER 

And  then  I  saw  your  face  and  in  your  eyes 
I  read  what  was  to  be. 

THE  LADY 

In  my  eyes  ?    No  — 
You  have  forgot !    I  read  that  end  in  yours. 


IN   A   VISION    OF   THE    NIGHT        97 

HER  LOVER 

And  we  two  rose  and  went  together  where 
We  heard  the  twilight  singing  in  the  green. 

THE  LADY 

Wonderful  twilight  singing  in  the  green  ! 

HER  LOVER 

And  then  — 

THE  LADY 

And  then,  oh  sweet !  I  know  it  well  — 

HER  LOVER 

You  know  it  ?  — 

THE  LADY 

Let  me  go  !    I  too  did  dream. 


THE   STORM 

THE  wind  was  a  crowd, 
Wet  birds  were  the  skies, 

I  marched  laughing  aloud 
With  the  storm  in  my  eyes. 

Part  beast  and  part  bird, 

A  waif  of  the  plain, 
My  laughter  was  heard 

With  the  voice  of  the  rain. 

I  thought  I  remembered 

A  night  long  ago 
When  our  hoofs  beat  the  sod 

And  we  rushed  to  and  fro, 

Our  flanks  steaming  hot, 
Rain-driven  and  warm! 

I  had  almost  forgot 

Till  I  ran  with  the  storm. 

I  thought  I  remembered 
Black  roads  to  a  star, 

When  the  wind  in  our  pinions 
Beat  us  up  and  afar. 


THE   STORM  99 

How  shrill  were  our  cries, 
As  we  flew  from  the  plain  ! 

Oh  that  road  to  the  skies, 
Beaten  up  by  the  rain  ! 

The  flails  of  the  storm 

Beat  my  soul  from  its  mesh. 

It  paled  like  a  mist, 

Driven  out  of  the  flesh. 

It  flew  through  the  night 

To  my  mother's  warm  hand, 

But  I  —  I  was  abroad 

With  the  wind  and  the  sand. 

Unhuman  and  strange, 

'Twixt  the  rain  and  the  stone, 
I  must  flutter  and  range 

Through  the  dark  all  alone ! 

The  darkness, 

The  wetness, 

The  sleekness, 

The  fatness 

Of  shapes  in  the  tempest 
Submerged,  with  no  name, 
As  with  laughter  and  shout 


ioo  THE    STORM 

And  a  clapping  of  hands 
I  danced  in  and  out 
Or  clove  in  the  sands. 
As  straight  as  the  lightning 
I  struck  and  I  came  — 
The  storm  was  the  thunder, 
And  I  was  the  flame. 

It  was  thus  that  I  ran 

To  the  House  on  the  Hill, 

When  the  voice  of  love 
Bade  the  tempest  be  still. 

Then  I  gathered  me  back 
From  the  rain  and  the  sand 

To  the  soul  held  so  close 
In  my  mother's  warm  hand. 


TO  DUST  RETURNING 

SCENE  :  The  palace  garden,  in  the  centre  of  which 
stands  a  sun-dial.  The  KING,  absorbed  in  medi 
tation,  watches  the  shadow  move  across  the  dial's 
face.  The  COURT  FOOL,  a  fantastic  figure, 
enters,  with  a  superb  air,  holding  in  his  hand 
something  which  cannot  be  seen.  He  is  pursued 
by  pages,  youths,  and  maidens  of  the  court. 

CROWD 

Fool  !  Fool ! 

A    YOUTH. 

He  swears  that  in  his  hand  he  holds 
The  bulwarks  of  the  earth  ! 

A  GIRL  (to  KING) 

Sire,  is  it  true  ? 

A    YOUTH 

His  hand  contains  great  empires  ! 

A  PAGE 

Kingdoms  ! 


loz  TO   DUST   RETURNING 

/ 

GIRL 

Crowns ! 

A  YOUTH  (to  JESTER) 
Prove  it  !  give  me  a  star  ! 

A  GIRL  (to  KING) 

Oh  Sire,  he  says 

That  in  his  hand  he  holds  a  power  and  glory 
More  great  than  yours  ! 

A  YOUTH  (to  JESTER) 

Then  grant  to  us  our  wishes ! 

FOOL 
Wish !  And  I  '11  grant  it ! 

1ST    GIRL 

Please,  some  satin  slippers  ! 

FOOL 
I  have  them  here  ! 

1ST    GIRL 

Painted  with  flying  cherubs  ? 

FOOL 
With  flying  cherubs  !    Lined  with  sky  blue  satin  ! 


TO   DUST   RETURNING  103 

YOUTH 

I  want  a  kingdom  ! 

FOOL 

Kingdoms  ?    I  have  plenty. 

2D    GIRL 

A  scarlet  bonnet ! 

3D    GIRL 

I  would  like  a  lover. 
In  splendid  rich  apparel !    Have  you  got  him  ? 

FOOL 
Bonnets  and  lovers  jostle  one  another. 

BOY 
I  want  a  war-horse  white  as  milk,  and  stamping ! 

1ST    CHILD 

Some  wooden  soldiers  ! 

2D    CHILD 

And  a  little  trumpet ! 

A  PAGE 
Glory  I  want ! 


104  TO    DUST    RETURNING 

FOOL 

My  hand  is  full  of  glory. 

OLD  MAN 

I  'm  blind  !    I  want  to  die  ! 

FOOL 

I  've  death  abundant. 

CROWD 
A  dancing  monkey  !    Jewels  !    Stars  ! 

FOOL  (addressing  the  KING) 

And  you  ? 

KING  (pointing  to  the  shadow  on  the  dial) 

I  want  an  answer  to  the  creeping  shadow 
That  marks  off  time. 

FOOL  (holding  his  hand  high  above  his  head) 

Look,  then  !   I  have  the  answer 
To  everything  that  is.    This  small  right  hand 
Contains  the  sum  of  all  desires  —  the  bourne 
For  which  life  strives  —  the  solace  unto  death  ! 
I  have  more  power  in  this  fragile  hand 
Than  kings  may  covet ;  all  the  heritage 
Of  them    that    reign  —  kingdoms    and     battles, 
powers, 


TO    DUST    RETURNING  105 

Banners  and  hosts  of  war,  and  crowns  and  thorns, 
Aye,  and  the  kings  that  wear  them  — 

KING 

Fool,  explain  this. 

FOOL 

Wonderful  hand^ !    It  is  so  full  of  stars 

I  hardly  hold  them  !    It  is  splashed  with  scarlet  ! 

Thunders    and    tumult  —  these     go    streaming 

through  it ! 

A  thousand  battles  rock  and  riot  in  it ! 
Cities  are  in  it  —  I  can  hear  them  breathing  — 
Kingdoms  and  crowns,  yes,  nations  have  I  here  ! 
And   hearts !     My   child,   those  cherub    painted 

slippers 

Are  mad  in  it  for  dancing !    A  scarlet  bonnet 
Flames  among  fallen  cities  !    I  hold  the  sum 
And  substance   of  this   world.    Oh   look  !    The 

glory  ! 

I  see  it  trickling  out  between  my  fingers  ! 
Easy  to  capture  it  !    I  reached  my  hand 
And  scooped  up  splendor ! 

CROWD 
Give  !   Oh,  show  it  !   Give  us  ! 


io6  TO    DUST    RETURNING 

FOOL 

Then  take  — 


(Lets  fall  handful  of  dust) 


KING 

It 's  dust ! 

FOOL 


What  would  you  have  ?    This  world 
From  dust  created,  unto  dust  returns. 


A  GIRL'S  SONG  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

I  WOULD  not  lose  one  joy  nor  grief, 
No  boon  that  is  the  world's  to  give. 
The  flower  and  the  fading  leaf, 
Love,  let  us  take  them  while  we  live. 
Love,  let  us  take  them  while  we  live,  — 
The  laughter  and  the  hurrying  kiss. 
Ah,  sweet,  't  is  all  so  fugitive, 
Never  again  shall  we  have  this. 

They  say  there  is  a  land,  my  dear, 
Where  there  is  honey,  milk,  and  wine. 
But  there  's  no  road  could  lead  me  there 
Unless  thy  lips  had  matched  with  mine. 
Unless  thy  lips  had  matched  with  mine, 
If  we  had  lost  a  single  kiss, 
In  Paradise  we  should  repine. 
Never  again  shall  we  have  this. 

In  that  fair  land  that  smiles  afar, 
Grow  laughing  trees  of  merrier  breed, 
But  where  's  a  glory,  in  what  star, 
Shaped  like  a  coriander  seed  ! 
Shaped  like  a  coriander  seed  ! 


io8  A    GIRL'S    SONG 

Gather  the  manna,  take  the  kiss. 
To-morrow  brings  us  more  indeed, 
Never  again  shall  we  have  this  ! 

So  let  us  love  and  touch  and  kiss 
And  weep  and  part  and  dance  and  play, 
Never  again  shall  we  have  this 
That  is  a  rosy  cloud  by  day  ! 
That  is  a  rosy  cloud  by  day  ! 
A  fire  at  night  along  the  sky  ! 
Love,  let  us  love  while  yet  we  may, 
Let  us  be  kind  before  we  die  ! 


THE    MADONNA   OF   THE   EARTH 

I  HAVE  grown  wise  with  littleness. 
The  Lord  of  Might  is  full  of  prettiness. 

I  see  the  skies 

And  they  are  old  no  more, 

But  in  its  infancy  all  lies 

Upon  its  mother's  knee. 

Her  face  I  cannot  see, 
But  I  can  see  thy  laughter  and  thy  smiles, 
Oh  innocent  heaven,  when  she  sings  to  thee. 

Fluttering  faces  shine, 

All  laughter,  out  of  rock  and  pine. 

Prettiness  is  abroad. 
Thou  lovest  prettiness  ;  dost  Thou  not,  oh  Lord  ? 

Since  Thou  didst  make  it  ! 
And  small  round  things  Thou  hast  shaped  to  cun- 

ningness. 
Of  old  I  thought  Thee  terrible  and  far  — 

Lodged  in  a  star. 

But  now  I  know  that  Thou  art  near  to  bless 
And  that  Thy  Hand  can  comfort  and  caress. 

Come,  little  Lord, 
And  stroke  the  pretty  water  with  thy  hand. 


no     THE    MADONNA    OF   THE    EARTH 

So  small,  so  fine, 

So  dainty  sweet  it  is  ! 
Soft  stepping,  gray,  and  full  of  mysteries. 

In  thy  hand  hold  it  — 

Love  it,  enfold  it, 

Then  let  it  go  again  ! 

Why  now  its  voice  is  multiple  as  the  rain. 
A  silly  water  —  yet  mighty  to  withstand 
Because  my  child  has  held  it  in  his  Hand. 

Oh  this  new  world  I  never  saw  before ! 

Thy  world,  my  baby  !  Looking  through  thine  ey 

I  see  such  things  to  pleasure  and  surprise ! 

Of  yore 

'T  was  but  an  apple  hanging  on  a  tree, 
But  now  I  clap  my  hands  with  thee  ! 
Wonderful ! 

Ah  how  well  I  see  it  now  ! 
Beautiful ! 

Crimson  on  a  gay  green  bough  ! 
Astonishing ! 

What  art  thou  ? 

Whence  earnest  thou  ? 

Thou  never  wert  before ! 
Canst  thou  sing  ? 

Is  it  a  bird  that  flies  on  a  red  wing  ? 
My  darling,  we  have  seen  a  marvelous  thing. 


THE    MADONNA   OF   THE    EARTH     in 

Oh  thou  new  man  ! 
I  look  around  with  thy  delighted  eyes 
And  old  things  have  new  graces. 
And  when  thou  smilest  into  haggard  faces 
Old,  desolate,  overwise,  crafty,  or  full  of  scorn, 
Thou  seest  another  face  beneath   that  one  for 
lorn  — 

The  look  of  a  child ; 

And  no  one  knew  save  thou 
How  it  was  lurking  in  the  mouth  and  brow. 

Oh  I  have  cried 

When  in  the  weary  folk  that  come  to  thee 
I  see  the  small  child  that  they  used  to  be 
Take  courage,  and  thinking  it  time  to  play, 

Steal  wistfully  out, 

And  so  forget 

The  unkind  tale  of  death  and  sin  and  doubt 
That  sent  them  crying  — 

While  thou  wilt  laugh  aloud 
To  see  so  many  children  in  a  crowd  — 
Such  sweets,  such  darlings  ! 

Looking  with  these  eyes 

I  find  in  all  men  dearnesses, 

Sweet  sounds,  clearnesses, 
That  show  their  souls  perfect  as  water  or  air. 
The  smiling  earth  reveals  its  secret  to  me  — 

I  have  grown  wise, 


ii2     THE    MADONNA   OF   THE   EARTH 

And  knowledge  ever  making  all  things  fair 
Shows  me  this  common  earth  is  Paradise. 

Now  I  will  sing  thee  a  song 

Of  thy  little  brothers  — 
All  things  that  haunt  the  field  and  wood, 
Four-footed,  furry,  wild,  and  good  ! 
And  there  are  other  loves  beside. 
Come  hither,  all  ye  loves  that  glide 
Among  the  grasses  ;  shadows  of  things, 
And  wonderful  thin  murmurings, 
Memories  of  clouds  lodged  in  the  wings 

Of  birds  at  rest  from  the  sky, 
Light  on  the  under  side  of  flowers, 
The  subtly  shining  air  begetting  showers, 

Gray  weeds, 

Flying  seeds, 
And  here  's  a  pebble  shaped  round  and  small, 

Pink  as  a  rose, 

With  its  own  shadow  on  the  sand, 
Which  somehow  seems  as  marvelous  and  grand 
As  a  great  mountain's.    Ay  —  no  less 
It  seems  to  cool  us,  comfort  us,  and  bless 

For  this  enchanting  spell  of  littleness 

Around  and  over  all. 

These  are  thy  playmates  now  — 
Flower-fine  pebble  and  the  small  brown  seed. 
Say,  "  I  am  little  with  thee !  "  to  the  weed, 


THE    MADONNA    OF   THE    EARTH     113 

And  to  the  pebble,  "  Small  and  still  as  thou." 

Strange  peoples  that  live  in  the  dust, 

Call  them  up  and  share  thy  crust. 

Wild  folk  with  fretful  eyes, 

Ah,  how  tame  that  savage  lies. 

Plaintive  folk,  no  more  perplexed, 

Play  around  my  child  unvexed. 

And  all  the  wandering  clans  of  air  and  light, 

And  sullen  tribes  that  take  by  stealth  the  night, 
There  's  none  so  small,  bewildered,  far, 
But  that  these  thy  brothers  are. 

Mother  Beast,  Mother  Beast,  with  the  wild,  woe 
ful  eyes  ! 

By  that  same  milk  by  which  we  feed  our  young, 
And  the  great  peace  that  we  alike  have  shared 

After  the  bearing  — 

I  bore  him  not  alone, 
Not  only  of  the  Spirit  I  got  my  Son, 
But  of  the  remembering  flesh  whose  good,  great 

pains 
Did  so  pierce  down  into  the  roots  of  things 

That  when  I  gave  him  birth 

I  felt  the  dark  and  lamentable  earth 
Sluggishly  bearing  stones.    I  was  dissolved 

Into  a  pained  element,  and  so 

I  felt  stars  in  me  grow. 


ii4     THE    MADONNA    OF   THE    EARTH 

I  rocked  with  the  sea, 

Begetting  mammoths ;  old  and  savage  moods, 
Birth  pangs  of  animals  in  secret  woods 

I  felt  in  me. 

Am  I  not  simple  and  great  even  as  these  ? 
Betwixt  the  breasts  of  the  brown  nourishing 

earth, 

In  the  hallowed  lap   betwixt   her  bosom   and 
knees, 

I  lie  with  a  great  mirth  ! 

Not  like  a  maid,  ashamed, 

But  full  of  pride 

Laughing  I  spread  my  breasts  for  every  one 
To  see  them  ample,  boisterous,  and  wide, 
With  the  strong  earth  milk  that  has  nourished 

my  Son. 

For  I  was  not  one  woman,  I  was  many, 
When  Heaven  descended  to  me  from  above 
And  like  a  cloud  dropped  softly  on  my  breast, 

Filled  me  with  rest. 
I  had  no  fear  before  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Freely  my  soul  partook  of  Paradise. 

Tolerable  was  the  glory  of  thy  wing, 
Oh  thou  great  Angel  —  and  thy  breaking  kiss 
Was  not  so  perilous  to  my  flesh  as  this, 
The  terror  of  animals  and  our  mortal  need 


THE    MADONNA    OF   THE   EARTH     115 

That  so  possessed  me,  when, 

Living  in  my  body,  the  thousand  hands 

of  men 
Received  the  stinging  seed. 

From  the  remembering  flesh  that  in  it  bore 
The    thoughts    of    old    dead    peoples    and    their 
dreams 

I  made  thee,  O  Lord. 

From  the  remembering  flesh  that  cried  aloud 
With   the    strong  voice   of   Rahab    the    harlot's 
blood 

I  created  Thee,  God. 

From  the  astonished  flesh,  pitifully  wrought 
With  dreams  and  angers  of  despairing  Cain, 

I  made  Thee,  O  Lord. 
Out  of  the  sorrowing  of  wistful  Eve 
And  from  the  tissue  of  her  smiles  and  tears 

I  created  Thee  —  God. 
From  Adam's  tumultuous  body,  whose  lust  and 

mirth 

Danced  heavily  in   him  and  from  the  great    de 
spair — 

I  made  Thee,  O  Lord. 
Out  of  the  eagerness  of  boys  and  girls 
That  long  for  kisses  in  the  flower  of  spring 

I  created  Thee,  God. 


n6     THE    MADONNA    OF   THE    EARTH 

(Thou  sbalt  go  to  the  dance  in  a  scarlet  robe,  my 

Son.} 
From  the  flesh  of  the  fool  that  laughing  in  his 

heart 
Cried  with  an  empty  voice,  "  There  is  no  God," 

I  made  Thee,  O  Lord. 
From  the  wistfulness  of  animals  that  die, 
From  our  desire  and  from  our  mortal  need, 
From  the  prayer  we  raise  and  our  delight  in  Thee, 

I  created  Thee,  God. 
And  perished  races,  rising  up  in  me, 
Fashioned  thee  wildly  of  my  little  dust 
And  breathed  upon  thy  face  the  image  of  man, 

And  created  Thee,  God. 

Thou   hast   forgotten   how  thou   didst   make  the 
world 

And  how  these  hands 

Did  shape  the  planets.    Burning  they  all  have  run 
Between  thy  fingers. 

Five  fingers  hast  thou,  sweet, 

The  first  one  says,  I  want  some  food. 

The  second  says,  A  plum  is  good. 
Ah  —  hadst  thou  lived  remote  among  the  stars, 
The  Master  of  us,  we  had  come  to  hate  ! 
But  now  thou  hast  the  need  of  us,  and  who 
Can  hurt  a  thing  so  helpless  and  so  small ! 


THE    MADONNA    OF   THE    EARTH     117 

The  third  one  says,  that  won't  do  ! 
The  fourth  one  hurries  on  its  shoe. 
How  safe  we  are,  tenderly  wrought  together ! 
How  still  we  lie  amid  the  strange  sweet  weather 
That  is  the  hollow  of  God's  hand. 

Yet  now 

My  garments  change  to  mine  own  eyes. 
Mellow  are  they  as  with  the  bloom  of  years. 

How  long 
Have  I  sat  with  Thee  thus  ?    Is  it  all  time  ? 

Lie  still. 
Thou  hast  no  grief  thy  Mother  cannot  heal. 

Yet  lo  — 

Within  my  garments  I  hear  a  sound  of  woe, 
Of  sorrow  and  of  everlasting  tears. 

Sleep  Thou  ! 

The  fifth  one  whispers,  I '//  go  see 
If  an  apple  's  dropped  from  the  apple  tree. 


LADIES   FAIR 

LADIES  FAIR,  oh,  what  are  we  ? 

Fond  or  foolish  or  unwise  ? 
That  it  is  our  lot  to  be 

Made  more  lovely  by  men's  eyes. 

If  our  looks  can  shine  more  bright 
It  shall  be  at  our  own  whim. 

Let  us  dwell  in  native  light 
Without  any  thought  of  Him. 

O  my  dears,  we  may  not  so  ! 

Beauty  comes  not  by  desire  ! 
But  how  soon  we  feel  it  grow 

If  they  see  us  and  admire. 

When  our  souls  in  time  of  flower 
Needs  must  blossom  or  repine, 

They  can  wake  us  in  an  hour ! 
If  they  love  us,  how  we  shine  ! 

Suddenly  we  hold  our  breath 

While  the  trembling  beauty  grows, 

We  can  feel  it  underneath, 

And  the  sunshine  lifts  the  rose  ! 


LADIES    FAIR  II9 

Though  we  love  you  not,  forbear  ! 

Be  not  vexed  that  heard  but  nay  ! 
Since  your  love  has  kept  us  fair 

As  the  earth  is  with  the  day. 

And  our  souls  are  robed  with  dew 

In  the  old  and  vernal  dress, 
And  we  shine  and  are  made  new 

With  your  love  of  loveliness. 

Ladies  Fair,  oh,  what  are  we  ? 

Fond  or  foolish  or  unwise  ? 
Still  it  is  our  lot  to  be 

Made  more  lovely  by  men's  eyes ! 


GRIEVE   NOT,   LADIES 

OH,  grieve  not,  ladies,  if  at  night 
Ye  wake  to  feel  your  beauty  going. 

It  was  a  web  of  frail  delight, 
Inconstant  as  an  April  snowing. 

In  other  eyes,  in  other  lands, 

In  deep  fair  pools,  new  beauty  lingers, 
But  like  spent  water  in  your  hands 

It  runs  from  your  reluctant  ringers. 

Ye  shall  not  keep  the  singing  lark 
That  owes  to  earlier  skies  its  duty. 

Weep  not  to  hear  along  the  dark 

The  sound  of  your  departing  beauty. 

The  fine  and  anguished  ear  of  night 
Is  tuned  to  hear  the  smallest  sorrow. 

Oh,  wait  until  the  morning  light ! 

It  may  not  seem  so  gone  to-morrow  ! 

But  honey-pale  and  rosy-red  ! 

Brief  lights  that  made  a  little  shining ! 
Beautiful  looks  about  us  shed  — 

They  leave  us  to  the  old  repining. 


GRIEVE   NOT,    LADIES  121 

Think  not  the  watchful  dim  despair 

Has  come  to  you  the  first,  sweet-hearted  ! 

For  oh,  the  gold  in  Helen's  hair  ! 

And  how  she  cried  when  that  departed  ! 

Perhaps  that  one  that  took  the  most, 
The  swiftest  borrower,  wildest  spender, 

May  count,  as  we  would  not,  the  cost  — 
And  grow  more  true  to  us  and  tender. 

Happy  are  we  if  in  his  eyes 

We  see  no  shadow  of  forgetting. 

Nay  —  if  our  star  sinks  in  those  skies 
We  shall  not  wholly  see  its  setting. 

Then  let  us  laugh  as  do  the  brooks 
That  such  immortal  youth  is  ours, 

If  memory  keeps  for  them  our  looks 
As  fresh  as  are  the  spring-time  flowers. 

Oh,  grieve  not,  Ladies,  if  at  night 
Ye  wake,  to  feel  the  cold  December ! 

Rather  recall  the  early  light 

And  in  your  loved  one's  arms,  remember. 


THE  DESCENDANT  AND  THE  ID 

(A  MONOLOGUE  IN  REGARD  TO  HEREDITY) 

ONCE,  when  the  Scholar  —  in  his  book,  you  know, 

That  talks  of  Ids  and  Biophors  and  so 

Makes  much  rebellious  dreaming  come  and  go  — 

With  that  great  nonchalance  of  his,  my  ease 
Had  interrupted  ;  (Ids  !  Such  things  as  these !  ) 
I    sought    myself  through   earth   and  fire  and 
seas; 

And  found  it  not  —  but  many  things  beside ; 
Behemoth  old,  Leviathans  that  ride, 
And  protoplasm,  and  jellies  of  the  tide. 

Then  wandering  upward  through  the  solid  earth 
With  its  dim  sounds,  potential  rage  and  mirth, 
I  faced  a  dim  Forefather  of  my  birth, 

And  thus  addressed  Him  :  "  All  of  you  that  lie 
Safe  in  the  dust  or  ride  along  the  sky  — 
Lo,  these  and   these    and    these  !    But  where 
am  I? 


THE    DESCENDANT    AND    THE    ID     123 

"  Before  the  day  that  brought  me  forth  had  found 

me, 

Your  subtle  raiment  wrapped  itself  around  me, 
Even  when  I  was  not  your  faint  hands  had  bound 

me. 

u  Thou  silent  minister  of  joy  and  pain, 
Weaving  a  shroud  more  subtle  than  the  rain 
That  lingers  white  along  the  fallen  grain  ; 

u  Since  thy  hands  made  me  —  but  not   fair,  not 

fine!  — 

Then  at  the  end  some  piteous  look  of  thine 
Must  plead  forgiveness  for  these  sins  of  mine." 

Thus  did  I  speak,  while  that  poor  face  arraigned 
me  — 

"  *T  was  thy  frail  spirit  in  my  heart  detained  me. 

Thy  thought,  wrought  strangely  in  my  own,  con 
strained  me." 

For  when  She  leaned  to  Him  in  the  great  bliss 
(Oh  I  were  wrong  to  tell  their  spirits  this  — ) 
All  my  life's  sweetness  went  to  make  that  kiss  ! 

Now,  when  I  beg  them,  as  my  hunger  must, 
Laughing  they  lay  into  my  hands  of  trust 
The  Dead  Sea  apple  that  is  full  of  dust. 


i24     THE    DESCENDANT   AND   THE   ID 

How  they  have  bruised  me  !    From  this  soul  of 

mine 
Danced  out  the  vintage  and  drank  up  the  wine. 

For  when  the  master  bade  them  in  to  sup, 
Between  hot  hands  they  snatched  the  golden  cup, 
Lo  —  I  was  in  it  —  and  they  drank  me  up. 

So  I  was  spent,  as  wind  is  among  sand, 
In  solemn  splendors  of  the  saraband. 

Yet  I,  condemned  by  them  to  such  vast  leisure, 
Can  laugh  to  think  of  that  great  storm  of  pleas 
ure,— 

Those  mad  dead  feet  that  danced  so  wild  a  meas 
ure. 

Those  pitying  eyes  !   I  will  not  let  them  see 
How  I  go  frail  for  want  of  strength  in  Thee. 
I  will  not  make  them  shed  new  tears  for  me. 

Poor  eyes  that  looked  on  love  so  many  years, 
Filled  with  desire  thereof —  knowing  no  fears  — 
Looking  through  mine  are  blinded  now  with  tears. 

Poor  feet,  that  once  tumultuous  would  go, 
Now  wistfully  in  mine  must  creep  so  slow, 
I  could  have  run  too,  but  ye  said  me  no. 


THE   DESCENDANT   AND   THE   ID     125 

Poor  lips  that  kissed  so  much,  in  such  hot  haste, 
And  left  me  nothing  out  of  so  much  waste, 
How  have  ye  come  now  to  the  great  distaste  ! 

Rocked  in  the  whirlwind  of  their  son's  desires, 
Their  bosoms  blow  upon  a  blast  of  fires. 
Oh,  wind  of  flame  that  through  my  melting  bone 
Blows  the  white  faces  of  my  burning  sires. 

For  they  that  leave  no  sons  are  comforted, 
So  placidly  their  downward  steps  are  led 
To  those  vague  nations  moving  in  the  dust, 
Serene,  secure,  and  being  dead,  are  dead  ! 

But  these  that  bore  a  child  shall  never  be 

Delighted  with  the  elements  and  free. 

They  make  of  body  and  soul   their  Heaven  and 

Hell, 
And  they,  being  dead,  shall  live  again  in  me. 

Last  night  those  melancholy  pilgrims  came. 

Her  tender  feet  were  sandaled  in  a  flame 

And  His  soul's  raiment  was  the  cloth  of  shame. 

u  Feast  thou,  my  son  "  —  but  ye  have  eaten  the 

bread ! 
"  Dance  thou,  my  son  "  —  Ye  have  broken  the 

pipes,  I  said. 


126     THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE   ID 

So  through  my  heart  in  desolate  array  — 
They  pass  and  pass  and  are  uncomforted. 

How  strangely  woven  of  their  pain  and  bliss 
Is  my  soul's  fabric.    I  was  wrought  of  this  — 
Their  exquisite  and  unforgivable  kiss. 

So  of  this  dual  breathing  was  I  made, 
Fragile,  eternal,  wonderful,  afraid, 
Rapturous,  guilty,  flaunting  and  dismayed. 

While  their  thin  laughter  echoing  in  my  bone 
Reminds  me  that  my  flesh  is  not  my  own. 
Hands  off,  hands  off,  and  let  my  soul  alone  ! 

I  cannot  blame  them  for  the  deed  they  did, 
Bearing  in  me  the  small  satiric  Id  — 
The  reproachful  secret  in  the  pyramid. 

But  I  am  weary  of  the  hoarded  gold, 

The  woven  garments,  stained  and  manifold, 

The  shames,  still  scarlet,  splendid  yet  and  old. 

In  all  the  woven  tissue  of  my  doom 

What  thread  is  mine  ?    What  thread  ?     Wrapped 

in  a  gloom 
Strange  hands  have  whirled  the  pattern  from  the 

loom. 


THE   DESCENDANT   AND   THE    ID     127 

And  my  young  dreams  of  cloud  and  fire  and  star, 
Of  powers  and  splendors,  shining  from  afar, 
Fade   from   that  web  where  those  dim  workers 
are. 

A  metal  meant  for  God  —  I  know  not  when 
My  Lord  refused  me  —  but  the  hands  of  men 
Have  marked  me  Caesar's.    Let  Caesar  have  me, 
then. 

0  Scribe,  (that,  writing  with  such  bitter  tears 
Colors  the  page  with  his  own  atmospheres !) 
Think  not  to  hide  that  legend  from  the  years. 

The  antique  tale,  erased  yet  faintly  guessed, 
Blurs  the  new  writing  on  the  palimpsest. 

Heredity,  that  drives  the  weak  and  great, 
With  hostile  lips  I  kiss  thy  robes  of  state. 
Such  homage  wilt  thou  ask  of  me,  O  Fate  ! 

Once  when  I  spread  the  altar  clean  and  white 

And  lit  thereon  a  solitary  light, 

She  brushed  it  out,  and  left  me  in  the  night. 

When  I  would  ease  me  with  the  wine  and  bread, 
Her  hands  bestow  it,  and  uncomforted 

1  ask  for  God,  receiving  her  instead. 


iz8     THE    DESCENDANT    AND    THE    ID 

When  did  that  silent  priestess  enter  in, 

Her  secret  ceremonials  begin  ? 

She  officiates  strangely,  even  unto  sin. 

Sometimes  she  turns  on  me  a  smiling  face 

And  to  my  asking  heart  confers  a  grace. 

How  old  it  is  and  brought  from  what  old  place ! 

Touched    by   how    many    hands !     With    moods 

divine 

Burnished  how  long,  so  wonderful  to  shine  ! 
Now  given  to  me  —  but  oh,  not  mine,  not  mine  ! 

Strange  savor  of  all  virtue  !  Ancient  worth  ! 
How  have  we  pilgrims  brought  out  of  the  earth 
Heirlooms  of  laughter  and  an  antique  mirth. 

My  heart  cries  out,  amid  their  fashioning, 

u  Lord,  I  am  weary  !  Give  me  some  fresh  thing," 

As  the  earth  cries  for  newness  in  the  spring. 

Oh  for  some  thunder  that  should  rush  through  me  ! 

Some  rain  to  purge  me  utterly  of  Thee, 

And  leave  me  naked  and  small,  barren  and  free. 

Then  I  would  drift  and  drive,  splendidly  bare, 
Earnest  and  simple,  choosing  all  things  fair, 
Plain  as  the  sunshine,  supple  as  the  air. 


THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE   ID     129 

For  what  are  we  but  such  as  they  who  go 
With  anxious  footsteps  hunting  to  and  fro 
For  a  dear  comrade,  lost  amid  the  show  ? 

I  elbowed  one  that  was  an  empty  fool, 
Touched  a  girl's  hand,  oh,  beautiful  and  cool ! 
And  talked  with  sage  professors  from  a  school. 

There  was  a  tent.    I  heard  His  voice  inside. 

So  in  I  went  —  but  at  the  door  espied 

The  pale  snake-charmer,  vague  and  heavy-eyed. 

I  saw  His  face  afar  —  oh,  brow  of  flame  ! 

Plain  element  of  Heaven  !  but  when  I  came 

It  was  the  flaunting  clown  with  mouth  of  shame. 

I  saw  His  eyes  —  but  turning,  in  a  cage 

Beheld  the  boar  amid  the  persiflage 

Of  the  light  crowd  preserve  his  ancient  rage. 

I  felt  His  breath —  but  sullen  from  his  lair 
I  saw  the  great  vindictive  lion  stare 
In  all  the  solemn  grandeurs  of  despair. 

I  saw  a  guise  familiar  by  the  gate. 

"  He  brings  me  some  fair  news,"  I  cried.    Too 

late! 
There  stood  a  sandwich  vendor  and  I  ate. 


1 30     THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE    ID 

Into  that  tent,  omnivorous  and  brown, 

I  saw  the  hurrying  hordes  of  them  drive  down, 

Until  the  huge  thing  murmured  like  a  town. 

Then  I,  who  missed  the  One  I  sought  for,  went. 

But  as  I  wandered  in  bewilderment 

My  body  hummed  like  that  articulate  tent. 

While  traveling  with  me,  many  a  weary  mile, 
Amused,  satiric,  watchful  all  the  while, 
Moved  the  perpetual  Scholar,  with  a  smile. 

For  as  I  watched  the  caravan  go  by, 
Strange,  yet  familiar,  came  the  wonted  cry, 
"  Yes !  these   and  these  and   these  !    But  where 
am  I ! " 

Then  spoke  that  rapt  Philosopher,  that  bore 
The  little,  restless,  splendid  Biophor. 
u  Thou  art  not,  truly.     Nay,  what  wouldst  thou 
more  ? 

"  O  fretful !   foolish  !  thin  and  vague  and  high  ! 
O  Egotist  !   O  Modern  !  With  that  cry, 
Think  you  to  startle  time  ?    I  —  I  —  I  —  I! 

"  What  dream  hast  thou  of  what  thyself  might  be  ? 
What  star,  what  cloud,  what  flame  is  lit  in  thee  ? 
Bright  terrible  delusion,  fair  to  see ! 


THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE   ID     131 

"  For  you  that  say,  with  vanity  half  hid, 

'  I  willed  and  said  and  made  and  had  and  did '  — 

Look  you,  with  curious  eyes,  upon  the  Id. 

"  That  little  Ark,  that  peopled  with  a  brood 
Of  dreams,  desires,  portents,  rides  the  flood, 
Rocks  on  forever  through  thy  wistful  blood. 

"  Behold  in  it  how  many  lives  arrayed ! 
Wild,  hostile,  loving,  exquisite,  afraid, 
All  living  things  that  God  has  ever  made. 

"  Here  is  thy  will,  thy  war,  thy  heavenly  fire, 
Thy  dust,  thy  want,  thy  labor,  and  thy  hire, 
The  dream,  the  anger,  and  the  old  desire. 

"  Through  this  small  Id  the  old  barbarians  rove, 
And  ancient  hierarchies  slowly  move  — 
And  kings  and  clowns  and  slaves  —  and  hate  and 
love. 

"  For  what  art  Thou  ?    Why  nothing,  friend,  at 

all  — 

Except  the  echo  of  a  reckless  call 
Or  as  a  simple  shadow  on  a  wall. 

"  For  as  the  fragile  cloud  accepts  the  air 
Thy  thoughts  receive  their  thoughts,  and  every 
where 
They  blow  thy  dreams  about.  Thou  art  not  there. 


132     THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE   ID 

"  What   Dream  bast  thou  ?  "    Then  through  my 

soul  there  came 

A  light  that  burned  through  weariness  and  shame, 
The  virginal  presence  of  the  clean,  first  flame. 

"  What  Dream  hast  thou  ?  "    Then  with  a  heart  of 

trust 

I  felt  the  sharp  and  exquisite  swift  thrust 
Of  swords  of  angels,  flashing  through  the  dust. 

O  fluttering  fire  !    O  little  pale  blue  wreath  ! 

0  radiant  substance,  hovering  over  death  ! 
This,  then,  is  I,  made  of  God's  living  breath. 

And  I  am  new  and  wonderful  and  fair ! 

"  What  star,   what   cloud,   what  flame  ? "    The 

angels  share 
Even  with  my  heart  their  breathing  of  first  air ! 

Apart,  above,  beneath,  beyond,  within, 

1  laugh  at  this  vast  heritage  of  sin. 

That  God  that  made  me  armed  my  soul  to  win. 

Slowly  I  feel  the  ancient  custom  fall 
Like  shattered  rain  from  ofF  a  steady  wall, 
And  great  u  I  will"  is  stronger  than  them  all. 


THE   DESCENDANT   AND    THE   ID     133 

For  if  those  hordes  that  terribly  must  ride 
Drive  through  my  heart  and  leave  their  grief  in 
side, 
God  also  wanders  there  at  eventide. 

Man  from  the  dust  and  woman  from  the  bone,  — 
But  oh,  we  were  not  wrought  of  these  alone  ! 
God,  with  His  Heavenly  spirit,  breathed  thereon. 

Last  night  the  old  ancestral  pageant  came, 
Bearing  the  ancient  virtue  and  the  shame. 
God,  in  my  hand,  had  written  a  New  Name. 


GLADNESS 

THE  world  has  brought  not  anything 
To  make  me  glad  to-day ! 

The  swallow  had  a  broken  wing, 

And  after  all  my  journeying 

There  was  no  water  in  the  spring,  — 
My  friend  has  said  me  nay. 

But  yet  somehow  I  needs  must  sing 
As  on  a  luckier  day. 

Dusk  falls  as  gray  as  any  tear, 

There  is  no  hope  in  sight  ! 
But  something  in  me  seems  so  fair, 
That  like  a  star  I  needs  must  wear 
A  safety  made  of  shining  air 
Between  me  and  the  night. 
Such  inner  weavings  do  I  wear 
All  fashioned  of  delight ! 

I  need  not  for  these  robes  of  mine 

The  loveliness  of  earth, 
But  happenings  remote  and  fine 
Like  threads  of  dreams  will  blow  and 
shine 


GLADNESS  135 

In  gossamer  and  crystalline, 

And  I  was  glad  from  birth. 
So  even  while  my  eyes  repine, 

My  heart  is  clothed  in  mirth. 


TO  NATURE 

I  LOVE  thee,  sweet,  because  thou  art  so  sure, 
Beautiful  always.    Never  a  mood  of  ours 

Has  touched  thine  eyes  with  sorrow.    Thou  dost 

endure 
Tranquil  amid  thy  sunshine  and  thy  showers, 

And  thou  art  rich  and  delicate  and  pure, 
Serene  as  Heaven  dallying  among  flowers. 

A  solace  amid  woe  is  this  to  me, 

That  though  we  perish,  still  the  world  is  fair. 
We  cannot,  by  lamenting,  darken  thee, 

Nor  with  our  tears  wash  out  thy  beauty  rare. 
Still  shall  a  violet  evening  please  the  sea, 

And  a  pale  splendor  satisfy  the  air. 


SERVICE 

IF  I  could  only  serve  him, 

How  sweet  this  life  would  be. 

Last  night  I  dreamed  my  darling, 
Alive,  returned  to  me. 

I  brought  him  from  the  cupboard 
The  things  he  liked  to  eat,  — 

The  little  piece  of  honey, 
The  rye  bread  and  the  meat. 

I  sang  the  song  he  asked  for 
The  night  he  went  away. 

How  was  it,  when  I  loved  him, 
I  could  have  said  him  nay  ! 

I  took  the  time  to  please  him, 
With  a  hand  upon  his  brow, 

Amid  the  awful  leisure 
There  was  no  hurry  now. 

How  strange  I  once  denied  him 
What  took  so  little  while. 

A  kiss  would  seem  so  simple, 
So  slight  a  thing  a  smile. 


138  SERVICE 

With  pleased  sweet  looks  of  wonder 
He  took  what  I  could  give,  — 

Such  words  as  we  deny  them 
Only  because  they  live. 

The  pale  light  of  the  morning 
Shone  in  upon  the  wall. 

Come  back  to  me,  my  darling, 
And  I  will  give  you  all. 


OH,  TELL  ME  THAT  THE  BIRD  HAS 
WINGS 

OH,  tell  me  that  the  bird  has  wings  ! 

Oh,  say  the  sky  is  blue ! 
I  think  I  never  knew  these  things 

Till  they  were  said  by  you. 

And  yet  —  I  feel  as  wise,  as  wise 

As  a  great  star  may  do, 
That  leans  its  cheek  into  the  skies  ! 

So  must  I  lean  to  you. 

And  yet  —  as  fresh  as  trees  in  spring, 

As  simple  as  the  dew  — 
I  seem  to  know  not  anything, 

Made  innocent  with  you. 


FIRST  SIGHT 

I  WAS  born  again  to-day ! 

I  was  fashioned  new  ! 
Now  my  heart  is  fresh  with  May 

Virginal  as  dew  ! 

What  it  was  I  cannot  tell. 

Something  on  my  eyes 
Exquisitely  breathed  and  fell 

And  I  grew  more  wise. 

Goldenly  it  breathed  and  kissed. 

Now  the  world  is  plain  — 
All  the  glories  I  had  missed 

In  shine  and  air  and  rain. 

Just  a  little  while  before 

It  was  all  disguised. 
Now  the  earth  seems  so  much  more 

That  I  am  surprised. 

I  could  touch  and  hold  and  kiss 

Everything  I  see  ! 
Say  then,  was  it  always  this, 

Waiting  just  for  me  ? 


FIRST  SIGHT  141 

Oh,  to  think  that  yesterday 

It  was  shining  so  ! 
Yet  my  poor  heart  could  delay 

And  my  eyes  said  no ! 


TO  BEAUTY 

I  WOULD  not  have  thee  far  away 

By  whom  I  must  be  led. 
I  needs  must  have  thee  every  day 

To  be  my  meat  and  bread. 

For  if  there  be  unlovely  things 

Wherein  no  radiance  glows, 
I  '11  kiss  them  till  their  folded  wings 

Shall  blossom  like  the  rose ! 

Oh,  be  thou  beautiful,  I  '11  say,  — 

And  save  me  with  delight ! 
Then  each  dark  thing  will  smile  like  day 

Between  me  and  the  night. 

I  '11  listen  till  I  make  them  speak, 
By  need  will  make  them  wise  ! 

As  love  calls  blushes  to  the  cheek 
Or  laughter  to  the  eyes. 

For  where  love  lays  its  trusting  kiss 
There  Beauty  needs  must  be 

And  so  I  '11  turn  the  world  to  bliss 
Until  it  shines  like  thee. 


THE  BLESS£D  HANDS  OF  SLEEP 

I  LAY  me  down  with  sighs  and  tears 

After  a  barren  day, 
Yet  every  morning  I  awake 

Innocent  and  gay. 

The  sunbeams  sparkle  in  my  soul 
As  if  't  were  bathed  in  dew  ! 

I  feel  so  simple  and  surprised, 
Exquisite  and  new  ! 

Little  I  feel  and  like  a  child 

With  laughter  I  arise. 
This  common  earth  revealed  and  bright 

Shines  like  Paradise. 

Betwixt  the  blessed  hands  of  sleep 

I  lay  my  heart,  and  lo ! 
She  heals  me  of  my  grief,  and  now 

Merrily  I  go. 

Oh,  strange  and  lovely  sleep,  that  Thou 

After  a  sorrowing  day 
Canst  send  me  forth  like  any  child, 

Innocent  and  gay ! 


WHO    WON   THE   DAY 

RONSARD,  the  gay  devil,  ran  under  the  guns  ! 
He  'd  be  off  if  you  bade  him  to  pluck  at  the  suns. 
Quoth  the  little  Pierrot,  "  Will  you  see  how  he 

runs !  " 

He  jumped  up  and  down  in  delight  at  the  show  — 
"  I  could  do  it  myself,"  cried  the  little  Pierrot. 

Who  won  the  day  ? 
Phillippe  and  Landre  ! 
These  laughed  at  the  fray  ! 
Bonaparte  ?    No ! 
Who  won  the  day  ? 
Jacques  and  Stofflet ! 
Ronsard  and  Rene 
And  the  little  Pierrot. 

Jacques  waved  a  girl's  kerchief  high  over  his  head. 
"  They  can  see  me  the  better,"  he  merrily  said. 
Quoth  the  little  Pierrot,  "  Will  he  laugh  when 

he  's  dead  ?  " 
He  had  only  been   kissed  by  his  mother,  but  — 

"  Oh ! 
I  could  do  it  myself!  "  cried  the  little  Pierrot. 


WHO  WON  THE  DAY  145 

Who  won  the  day  ? 
Phillippe  and  Landre  ! 
These  laughed  at  the  fray ! 
Bonaparte  ?    No  ! 
Who  won  the  day  ? 
Jacques  and  Stofflet  ! 
Ronsard  and  Rene 
And  the  little  Pierrot ! 

Pierrot  laughed  aloud.    "  So  little  ?  "  says  he  ! 
"  If  the  chance  is  so  small  the  Lord  sized  it  for 

me  !  " 
They  had  held  the  lad  back,  but  he  begged  to  be 

free. 

He  cried  like  a  child  for  his  toy,  and  so 
They    must   needs    give   his   death   to   the  little 

Pierrot. 

Who  won  the  day  ? 
Phillippe  and  Landre  ! 
These  laughed  at  the  fray ! 
Bonaparte  ?    No  ! 
Who  won  the  day  ? 
Jacques  and  Stofflet ! 
Ronsard  and  Rene 
And  the  little  Pierrot. 


THE   SLEEP   IN   GETHSEMANE 

INTO  the  dark  Christ  turned  away. 
He  spoke  to  the  Three  and  bade  them  stay. 
"  Sit  ye  and  watch  while  I  go  pray." 
O  Lord,  pity  us  ! 

Peter  dreamed  of  a  barley  cake. 
It  up  and  talked  when  he  fain  would  break. 
He  laughed  in  his  sleep  till  his  sides  'gan  ache ! 
O  Lord,  pity  us  ! 

James  had  a  dream  that  his  brothers'  ass 
Fell  down  dead  where  the  pilgrims  pass. 
He  heaved  in  his  sleep  and  cried  "  alas." 
O  Lord,  pity  us  ! 

"  Nay,"  quoth  John,  "  but  I  '11  take  no  rest  !  " 
He  thought  that   he  lay  on  the  Lord  Christ's 

breast, 

But  it  turned  to  a  maid's,  that  he  loved  the  best  1 
O  Lord,  pity  us  ! 

Jesus  looked  upon  their  shame 
When  bleeding  out  of  the  dusk  he  came. 
Three  times  over  they  did  the  same. 
O  Lord,  pity  us  / 


MAXIMS   FOR   AN   OLD    HOUSE 

THE    HEARTH 

GOD  rest  you  all  that  linger  here, 
Though  you  be  strange  you  still  are  dear. 
Peace  to  your  hearts,  if  you  abide, 
Reflect,  and  give  your  souls  to  cheer, 

THE    HALL 

Oh  thou,  the  youngest  of  this  race 
Sojourning  now  in  their  old  place, 
Think  thou  kind  thoughts  and  dream  fair 

dreams, 
For  such  as  this  thy  line  beseems. 

THE    EAVES 

If  underneath  the  quiet  eaves 
You  hear  the  pushing  of  vague  leaves  — 
'T  is  these  old  beams,  remembering 
How  sweet  the  forests  were  in  spring. 

THE    PORCH 

I  reach  abroad  my  wistful  palms, 
As  beggars  cry,  "  An  alms,  an  alms." 
Leave  thou  some  kindliness  in  me 
That  these  old  rooms  may  better  be. 


148        MAXIMS  FOR  AN  OLD  HOUSE 

THE    BEST    ROOM 

All  they  that  spent  their  days  in  grace 
Have  left  a  blessing  on  this  place. 
Then  gentle  be  that  speech  that  falls, 
Lest  ye  offend  these  placid  walls. 

THE    STAIR 

She  was  so  young,  so  light,  so  fair ! 

I  loved  her  footfall  on  the  stair, 

Her  voice  fell  bright  through  this  dim  air. 

I  would  have  kept  my  dear,  but  she 

Like  thou  —  like  thou  —  must  pass  from  me. 

THE    CHAMBER 

I 

How  intimate  and  yet  how  strange ! 
How  calm  I  am  that  never  change. 
All  day  I  think,  as  I  abide, 
How  many  folk  have  in  me  died. 

ii 

To  sleep,  to  dream,  to  smile,  to  lie 
And  still  dream  on  as  night  goes  by, 
It  may  be  when  thy  time  shall  come 
It  shall  not  seem  more  sad  to  die. 


MAXIMS  FOR  AN  OLD  HOUSE        149 

THE    DUST 

Amid  the  clinging  world  I  guess 
Their  subtle  hands  contrive  to  bless. 
And  from  this  ancient  dust  I  see 
Ancestral  eyes  peer  forth  at  me. 

THE    KEEPING-ROOM 
I 

The  thorn  that  by  the  wayside  grows 
Comforts  the  pilgrim  with  a  rose. 
Do  thou,  like  him,  to  charm  thy  gloom 
Perceive  the  sweetness  of  this  room. 

ii 

If  thou  perchance  shouldst  see  a  face 
Smile  at  thee  from  an  empty  space, 
Or  feel  some  presence,  do  not  fear, 
Those  ghosts  are  kind  that  loiter  here. 

in 

I  met  a  stranger  in  this  room, 

He  moved  about  and  seemed  at  home. 

"  Good  sir,"  said  I,  "  what  dost  thou  here  ?  " 
He  turned  a  pleasant  face  and  said, 

"  A  hundred  years  have  I  been  dead." 


150        MAXIMS  FOR  AN  OLD  HOUSE 

THE    THRESHOLD 

Ye  who  have  come  to  such  an  age 
Ye  dream  of  that  Great  Pilgrimage, 
Think  not  to  bid  this  roof  farewell. 
Lo !  our  old  smiles  shall  give  you  rest 
In  those  new  mansions  of  the  blest. 

THE    PLASTER    ON    THE    CHIMNEY 

These  words  in  time  shall  pass  away 
And  moulder  with  the  mouldering  clay. 
Learn  thou  that  only  passing  things 
May  know  the  blessedness  of  wings. 


THE   COMMON   LOT 

THE  sheets  on  which  I  rest  at  night 
Are  sleepy  fine  and  drowsy  white. 
Among  them  are  such  soft  caresses, 
And  all  enchanting  sleepinesses. 

And  when  I  go  to  wash  my  hands 
I  touch  the  sweetness  of  the  lands. 
What  pretty  water,  swift  and  shy  ! 
God  love  my  little  friend,  say  I  ! 

The  wonderful  feeling  in  my  feet 
That  makes  them  glad  to  touch  the  street, 
While  through  the  lanes  and  market-places 
Small  happenings  assume  such  graces 
The  air  seems  full  of  smiling  faces. 
And  all  the  dull,  least,  common  things 
Have  singing  breasts  and  beating  wings. 

I  let  their  speech  sound  in  my  ear  — 
The  wonderfully  small  and  dear ! 

They  all  go  singing  day  and  night, 
The  little  children  of  delight. 


1 52  THE  COMMON  LOT 

The  kind  and  simple  shall  not  say 
"  We  piped  to  you  the  livelong  day, 
But  could  not  get  you  out  to  play." 

Nay,  let  me  take  their  shy,  small  hands 
And  dance  among  their  innocent  bands. 

A  gray  rain  lives  beneath  the  eaves, 
Green  apples  grow  among  green  leaves. 

Some  children  in  the  street  let  fall 
Over  our  hedge  a  leather  ball. 

My  feet  are  glad  to  touch  the  ground, 
My  clean  skirt  makes  a  pleasant  sound. 

If  I  should  go  to  wash  my  hands 

I  should  touch  the  innocence  of  the  lands. 

The  sheets  on  which  I  rest  at  night 
Are  sleepy  fine  and  drowsy  white. 


SONGS   FOR   MY   MOTHER 

I 
MY  MOTHER'S  CLOTHES 

WHEN  I  was  small,  my  mother's  clothes 

All  seemed  so  kind  to  me  ! 
I  hid  my  face  amid  the  folds 

As  safe  as  safe  could  be. 

The  gown  that  she  had  on 

To  me  seemed  shining  bright, 

For  woven  in  that  simple  stuff 
Were  comfort  and  delight. 

Yes,  everything  she  wore 

Received  my  hopes  and  fears, 

And  even  the  garments  of  her  soul 
Contained  my  smiles  and  tears. 

Then  softly  will  I  touch 

This  dress  she  used  to  wear. 

The  old-time  comfort  lingers  yet, 
My  smiles  and  tears  are  there. 


154  SONGS  FOR  MY  MOTHER 

A  tenderness  abides 

Though  laid  so  long  away, 

And  I  must  kiss  their  empty  folds, 
So  comfortable  are  they. 

II 

HER    HANDS 

My  mother's  hands  are  cool  and  fair, 

They  can  do  anything. 
Delicate  mercies  hide  them  there 

Like  flowers  in  the  spring. 

When  I  was  small  and  could  not  sleep, 

She  used  to  come  to  me, 
And  with  my  cheek  upon  her  hand 

How  sure  my  rest  would  be. 

For  everything  she  ever  touched 

Of  beautiful  or  fine, 
Their  memories  living  in  her  hands 

Would  warm  that  sleep  of  mine. 

Her  hands  remember  how  they  played 
One  time  in  meadow  streams,  — 

And  all  the  flickering  song  and  shade 
Of  water  took  my  dreams. 


SONGS  FOR  MY  MOTHER  155 

Swift  through  her  haunted  fingers  pass 
Memories  of  garden  things  ;  — 

I  dipped  my  face  in  flowers  and  grass 
And  sounds  of  hidden  wings. 

One  time  she  touched  the  cloud  that  kissed 
Brown  pastures  bleak  and  far ;  — 

I  leaned  my  cheek  into  a  mist 
And  thought  I  was  a  star. 

All  this  was  very  long  ago 

And  I  am  grown ;  but  yet 
The  hand  that  lured  my  slumber  so 

I  never  can  forget. 

For  still  when  drowsiness  comes  on 

It  seems  so  soft  and  cool, 
Shaped  happily  beneath  my  cheek, 

Hollow  and  beautiful. 

Ill 

HER    WORDS 

My  mother  has  the  prettiest  tricks 
Of  words  and  words  and  words. 

Her  talk  comes  out  as  smooth  and  sleek 
As  breasts  of  singing  birds. 


156          SONGS   FOR   MY    MOTHER 

She  shapes  her  speech  all  silver  fine 

Because  she  loves  it  so. 
And  her  own  eyes  begin  to  shine 

To  hear  her  stories  grow. 

And  if  she  goes  to  make  a  call 

Or  out  to  take  a  walk, 
We  leave  our  work  when  she  returns 

And  run  to  hear  her  talk. 

We  had  not  dreamed  these  things  were  so 

Of  sorrow  and  of  mirth. 
Her  speech  is  as  a  thousand  eyes 

Through  which  we  see  the  earth. 

God  wove  a  web  of  loveliness, 
Of  clouds  and  stars  and  birds, 

But  made  not  anything  at  all 
So  beautiful  as  words. 

They  shine  around  our  simple  earth 

With  golden  shadowings, 
And  every  common  thing  they  touch 

Is  exquisite  with  wings. 

There  's  nothing  poor  and  nothing  small 
But  is  made  fair  with  them. 


SONGS  FOR    MY   MOTHER  157 

They  are  the  hands  of  living  faith 
That  touch  the  garment's  hem. 

They  are  as  fair  as  bloom  or  air, 

They  shine  like  any  star, 
And  I  am  rich  who  learned  from  her   , 

How  beautiful  they  are. 


IV 

HER    STORIES 

I  always  liked  to  go  to  bed  — 
It  looked  so  dear  and  white. 

Besides,  my  mother  used  to  tell 
A  story  every  night. 

When  other  children  cried  to  go 

I  did  not  mind  at  all, 
She  made  such  faery  pageants  grow 

Upon  the  bedroom  wall. 

The  room  was  full  of  slumber  lights, 
Of  seas  and  ships  and  wings, 

Of  Holy  Grails  and  swords  and  knights 
And  beautiful,  kind  kings. 

And  so  she  wove  and  wove  and  wove 
Her  singing  thoughts  through  mine. 


158  SONGS   FOR   MY    MOTHER 

I  heard  them  murmuring  through  my  sleep, 
Sweet,  audible,  and  fine. 

Beneath  my  pillow  all  night  long 

I  heard  her  stories  sing, 
So  spun  through  the  enchanted  sheet 

WaS  their  soft  shadowing. 

Dear  custom,  stronger  than  the  years  — 

Then  let  me  not  grow  dull ! 
Still  every  night  my  bed  appears 

Friendly  and  beautiful  ! 

Even  now,  when  I  lie  down  to  sleep, 

It  comes  like  a  caress, 
And  still  somehow  my  childish  heart 

Expects  a  pleasantness. 

I  find  in  the  remembering  sheets 

Old  stories,  told  by  her, 
And  they  are  sweet  as  rosemary 

And  dim  as  lavender. 


EVE'S  SONG 

THEY  may  not  ever  know 
By  what  dark  thoughts  I  go, 
What  roads  lead  to  and  fro 

To  that  dear  place. 
But  since  the  day  our  eyes 
Turned  from  its  blessed  skies, 
I  have  thrice  seen  Paradise, 

By  God's  good  grace. 

Ay,  thrice  the  angel's  sword 

Has  touched  my  heart,  good  Lord. 

According  to  thy  word, 

I  came  by  fire, 

And  thrice  those  roads  of  pain 
Have  broken  my  soul  in  twain, 
Yet  it  was  not  in  vain, 

O  Heart's  Desire. 


When  Adam  on  his  side 
Turned  heavily  and  cried, 
With  laughter  had  I  died 
To  make  him  whole. 


160  EVE'S   SONG 

My  heart  was  like  to  break 
For  that  sweet  Eden's  sake, 
Comfort  thereof  to  take 
For  his  poor  soul. 

Strong  rain  and  bitter  wind  ! 
And  we  were  lost  and  blind. 
All  this  of  my  frail  mind 

Was  come  of  me. 
But  Adam  spoke  and  said, 
"  Love,  I  were  comforted, 
Yes,  raised  although  long  dead, 
Being  near  to  thee." 

(  That  place  wherein  I  wait 

Is  closed  inviolate, 

Shut  in  with  the  warm  state 

Of  angels'  wings. 
The  trees  that  flame  around 
Bear  plumes  of  golden  sound, 
And  like  the  heart  of  the  ground, 

The  ground  bird  sings.) 

II 

When,  as  we  went  forlorn, 
My  ailing  feet  were  torn 
With  wound  of  many  a  thorn 
And  grief  of  the  stone, 


EVE'S    SONG  161 

I  knew  not  any  harm 
That  had  his  looks  for  balm, 
He  healed  me  with  a  calm 
Shed  from  his  own. 

(Softly  the  angels  there 

Color  the  atmosphere 

As  sweet  rain  takes  the  air 

In  time  of  drouth. 
"  Her  heart  is  broken"  they  said, 
"  Tet  sings  she  like  the  Dead, 

For  she  has  Adam's  kiss 

Upon  her  mouth.'") 

in 

When,  born  to  earth  and  stone, 
My  Cain  fared  forth  alone, 
With  no  heed  to  my  moan, 

In  angry-wise, 

Like  a  tree  the  storm  has  bent 
I  rocked,  being  wholly  spent, 
Yet  by  that  road  I  went 

To  Paradise. 

( No  hope,  nor  joy,  nor  fears, 
Laughter,  nor  any  tears, 
Disturb  those  silent  spheres 
Where  I  abide. 


162  EVE'S   SONG 

The  waning  and  increase, 
God  maketb  all  this  cease ; 
Only  a  great,  good  peace  — • 
And  naught  beside?) 


Yes,  thrice  the  angel's  sword 
Has  touched  my  heart,  good  Lord, 
According  to  thy  word, 

I  came  by  fire, 

And  thrice  those  roads  of  pain 
Have  broken  my  soul  in  twain. 
Yet  it  was  not  in  vain, 

O  Heart's  Desire ! 


THE   THEATRE-CURTAIN 

WHAT  a  happy  folk  are  these  — 
That  the  artist's  hand  has  wrought 
On  the  curtain,  gay  as  thought  — 
Light  as  folly,  how  they  please ! 

And  the  play  that  lived  behind 

Passes,  faint  as  any  wind  ! 

And  we  have  not  any  mind 
Save  for  these ! 

Ah  —  this  theatre-curtain  !    Think  awhile 
How  the  faces  on  it  smile ! 
How  they  dance, 

Glance, 

Shine ! 

Columbine 
Leads  her  sportive  pageant  in 

With  Harlequin  ! 
Gay  Pierrot! 

Sweet  Pierrette ! 
We  forget 

What  's  the  show 
Till  the  lights  go  out,  and  lo ! 

Romeo ! 

And  Juliet ! 


164  THE  THEATRE-CURTAIN 

And  the  motley  —  gone  at  last ! 
All  the  gay, 

Jesting  throng 
Fled  away ! 

Following  after 

Went  the  laughter 

And  the  past 

Has  their  song ! 

Yet  we  know  they  '11  come  again  — 

That  is  sure ! 

Strange  it  is  that  in  this  world  of  men 
'T  is  our  laughters  that  endure  ! 
Only  tears  shall  pass  away, 
Sorrow  vanish,  like  the  play  ! 
When  all 's  said  and  done  there  '11  fall 
A  healing  joy  over  all ! 

Even  so 
Juliet  weeps  and  Romeo 

Faints  and  dies  — 
While  following  the  voice  of  woe 
Comes  the  singing  of  Pierrot, 
And  the  laughter  of  Pierrette  stops  the  sighs. 

Oh,  the  merriments  of  earth  ! 

We  do  well  — 

When  we  dance,  sing,  and  smile ! 
Truly  we  were  made  for  mirth  ! 


THE   THEATRE-CURTAIN  165 

And  I  love  this  painted  throng ! 

Glad  am  I  to  know  that  after 

This  sad  play  will  come  the  laughter 

And  the  song. 

And  I  thank  the  hand  that  wrought 
Such  delight  with  such  a  thought 
That  the  theatre-curtain  falls 
Bringing  joy  by  the  hand, 
Singing  dancers  in  a  band  — 
And  a  voice  none  can  withstand 

Calls  and  calls  — 
Like  a  day 

In  sweet  o'  June  ! 
I  forget  the  inner  breath, 
Parting,  fear,  despair,  and  death, 
And  my  own  feet  dance  away 

To  the  tune ! 

Dears,  who  painted  here  do  dwell  — 
Flushed  and  gay,  I  love  you  well ! 
Oh,  to  bide  as  one  of  these  ! 
I  could  dance  as  well  as  they, 
Have  my  laughter  and  be  gay  ! 
And  forget  the  strange  old  way 
So  beset  with  mysteries. 

Columbine, 

The  fine, 


1 66  THE   THEATRE-CURTAIN 

And  mocking  — 

Lifts  her  skirt  and  shows  her  stocking  ! 
Sweetheart,  fie  !    And  foldero  ! 
Maids  and  gallants  in  a  row 

To  the  fair  ! 

Oh,  what  are  these  whisperings, 
Like  a  sigh  that  breathes  and  clings  ! 
If  the  saddened  heart  of  things 
Breaks  behind  us,  who  's  to  care  ? 

I  forswear 
Romeo  and  Juliet ! 
Rest  ye,  sweets  !    I  must  forget 
How  ye  sorrowed,  when  Pierrette 
Whirls  her  timbrel  in  the  air, 
Dancing  down  to  seek  the  fair. 
How  the  motley  crew  comes  prancing ! 
How  they  whirl  and  pirouette  ! 
Gay  Pierrot, 

Sweet  Pierrette  ! 
Swiftly  glancing  ! 

I  forget    ' 

Some  one  sorrowed  !    Is  it  so  ? 
Peace,  it  was  so  long  ago. 
Prithee,  pipe  !    And  let 's  be  dancing  ! 
Faith  !    This  world 's  a  pleasant  show  ! 
Dears,  I  love  it !    Here  we  go  ! 
(But  the  heart  break  ?    Be  it  so.~) 


THE   THEATRE-CURTAIN  167 

Hi  di  di  and  tripping  toe 

All  the  way  ! 

I  will  kiss  thee,  one,  two,  three  — 
An  thou  'It  give  but  one  to  me, 

And  be  gay  ! 

(Romeo, 

Is  it  thine  —  this  haunting  fear  ? 
This  despair  that  breathes  so  near  ? 
World-old  sorrow 

What  dost  thou  here  ?) 
'T  is  to-morrow ! 

Sweet  my  dear — 
Kiss! 

(Oh,  hush  thee,  Juliet!) 
This  — 

Pierrette  — 

Is  all  I  ask ! 
Motley  and  a  singing  mask, 

And  to  forget ! 


THE   PILGRIM 

TOUCH  me  not,  mother,  who  art  thou, 

To  lay  a  hand  on  me  ? 
My  soul  was  driven  through  sun  and  moon 

Ere  I  was  come  to  thee  ! 

My  soul  was  blown  through  the  solid  earth, 

It  rode  upon  the  sea, 
And  the  whirling  planet  brought  me  forth 

Ere  I  was  come  to  thee. 

My  feet  have  traveled  by  blood,  by  blood, 
That  guts  a  road  through  the  hearts  of  men, 

I  lodged  me  safe  beneath  their  mood 
And  then  drove  on  again. 

Touch  me  not,  mother,  for  I  must  burn, 

Such  ancient  fires  flame  in  me ! 
Frail  web  that  caught  a  scattered  pollen, 

I  was  not  born  of  thee  ! 

I  must  be  strange,  for  I  am  far ! 

Oh,  near  and  far  as  is  the  air ! 
I  drank  a  strong  milk  out  of  a  star  — 

For  lo !  thou  wast  not  there. 


THE    PILGRIM  169 

Touch  me  not,  mother !    I  was  not  held 
By  pleading,  stone,  or  solid  seas, 

What  is  there  in  Thy  wistful  flesh 
More  strong  than  these  ? 


If  Thou  came  out  of  the  moon  and  star 

I  plucked  thee  forth  by  my  desire. 
I  can  hold  thee  burning  in  my  hand  ! 

It  was  my  band  that  shaped  the  fire  ! 

If  thou  didst  house  thee  in  the  mood 

Of  folk  that  perished  long  ago, 
It  was  the  whisper  in  my  blood 

That   brought    thee,  whether   thou  wouldst 
or  no. 

I  am  more  frail  than  water  or  stone, 

But  yet  I  shall  not  let  thee  go  ! 
Thou  art  my  son,  and  mine  alone, 

Because  I  love  thee  so  ! 


A  MOTHER'S  SONG 

I  HAVE  not  yet  known  Mother's  grief 
For  I  can  comfort  thee. 
Child,  I  can  smile  above  the  tears 
So  swiftly  eased  by  me. 

I  know  in  time  my  son  shall  grow 
Beyond  his  Mother's  ken. 
And  half  a  stranger  he  will  go 
Among  the  world  of  men. 

Then  shall  I  know  a  Mother's  grief — 
His  separate  bitterness. 
My  heart  will  break  if  his  must  ache 
With  wounds  I  cannot  guess. 

'T  is  little  pain  to  bear  a  child 
Beside  this  other  woe. 
To  feel  the  helplessness  to  soothe 
The  want  that  grieves  him  so. 

(7  hear  a  man  cry  in  the  dark, 
He  journeys  on  alone.) 
Lie  close,  lie  close,  my  little  son, 
While  yet  thou  art  my  own. 


A  MOTHER'S  SONG  171 

(His  heart  is  broken  by  stranger  hands, 
I  may  not  give  him  rest.) 
My  darling  one,  my  child,  my  Son  ! 
I  hold  thee  on  my  breast. 

(The  heart  in  him  is  sick  with  need, 
For  help  1  may  not  give.) 
Perchance  the  smiles  I  spend  on  thee 
May  help  that  stranger  live. 

(  Unhoused,  along  a  barren  road, 
I  hear  a  pilgrim  weep.) 
But  in  his  heart  is  the  little  song 
That  sings  thee  now  to  sleep. 

(The  bitter  brand  of  this  world1  s  shame 
Is  sealed  upon  his  brow.) 
But  in  his  hand  is  a  New  Name  — 
The  kiss  I  give  thee  now  ! 

For  when  my  child  is  grown  —  is  grown  — 
He  '11  get  this  help  from  me, 
That  now,  while  he  is  all  my  own, 
I  rock  him  on  my  knee. 


CLOD  OF  THE  EARTH 

CLOD  of  the  earth,  that  hardly  knows 
How  the  warm  sun  comes  or  the  cold  rain 

goes, 

That  lieth  dumb  and  bleak  and  bare, 
It  was  thy  thought  begat  the  rose. 


THE   DREAMING    MAN 

"  O  Dreaming  Man,  why  dost  thou  go 
Serene  as  stars  through  clouds  at  night, 
As  safe  as  cold  is  among  snow, 
Constant  as  laughter  to  delight  ? 
What  comforts  thee  and  what  high  charm 
Has  robed  thee  in  Imperial  calm  ?  " 

"  O  Dreaming  Man,  across  the  west 
The  darkening  shades  of  night  draw  nigh." 
Brother,  who  seeks  the  eternal  guest 
His  sun  sinks  not  in  any  sky, 
Time  is  ashamed  and  stars  unsure 
And  seasons  pass,  but  I  endure. 

"  O  Dreaming  Man,  where  are  thy  tears  ?  " 
Brother,  they  have  no  need  to  fall. 

"  You  drink  not  of  the  bitter  years  ?  " 
Brother,  I  am  more  strong  than  all. 
I  dreamed  beyond  the  moon  and  sun 
I  was  a  great  and  god-like  one. 

He  sat  beneath  the  radiant  trees 
That  sing  like  birds,  in  Paradise. 


174  THE    DREAMING    MAN 

Since  space  and  time  were  not  of  these, 
Eternal  peace  had  made  him  wise. 
Upon  God's  breast,  a  darling  child, 
He  leaned  his  happy  cheek  and  smiled. 

As  the  sea  spheres  its  golden  hands 
About  the  beauty  of  the  moon, 
He  held  the  round  earth,  the  old  lands, 
The  night,  the  sunrise,  and  the  noon, 
The  wind,  the  tide,  the  shine,  the  sound, 
And  time  that  circled  round  and  round. 

And  it  was  built  out  of  his  thought, 
And  it  was  globed  to  his  desire ; 
Out  of  his  heart  of  love  he  brought 
The  little  lovely  ball  of  fire, 
A  sphered  flame,  a  shape  of  bliss, 
Assured  and  safe  he  fashioned  this. 

In  that  bright  place,  remote,  afar, 
He  flamed  with  God  upon  his  throne, 
There  was  not  any  time  nor  star 
But  he  could  have  it  for  his  own. 
Seasons  and  dooms  about  him  crept, 
Superb  he  held  the  earth  and  slept. 

He  dreamed  that  in  a  garden  place 
He  knew  not  anything  at  all. 


THE    DREAMING    MAN  175 

Only  at  dusk  he  saw  God's  face, 
And  Eve  shined  through  the  interval. 
A  little  apple  pleased  his  eye  — 
"The  forbidden  fruit  I  eat  — and  die." 

Exquisite  with  the  day  and  night, 

And  globular  as  music  is, 

And  roseate  with  his  delight  — 

The  child  of  love,  it  all  was  his. 

The  sunset  through  his  fingers  streamed 

Near  to  God's  heart  he  slept  and  dreamed. 

He  dreamed  he  was  the  angry  Cain, 
Confused  and  sullen  from  his  birth. 
He  hid  the  white  face  of  his  slain, 
And  cursed  with  it  the  barren  earth. 
With  solemn  rituals  of  the  dead  — 
"I  hate  —  and  serve  thee,  Lord,"  he  said. 

He  was  as  beautiful  as  Love, 

God's  hand  had  fashioned  him  so  fair. 

As  innocent  as  is  the  Dove 

He  poised  and  shone  in  that  great  air  ! 

Like  a  white  cloud  that  takes  its  rest 

He  slept  and  dreamed  upon  God's  breast. 

He  thought  that  with  a  mouth  of  shame 
He  broke  his  Master  with  a  kiss, 


1 76  THE    DREAMING    MAN 

And  oh  —  the  everlasting  flame 
That  shall  consume  his  soul  for  this. 
He  swerved  like  fire  from  side  to  side  — 
u  God  —  I  have  slain  my  God  !  "  he  cried. 

He  was  as  clean  as  oceans  are, 
And  like  the  day-spring  he  was  fair, 
And  he  could  dance  like  any  star 
Over  the  highways  of  broad  air. 
A  splendor  from  his  body  streamed, 
He  held  the  little  earth  and  dreamed. 

He  dreamed  that  as  pale  foliage  dead 
His  ashen  body  glimmered  white. 
Among  old  bones  he  broke  his  bread 
Lamenting  in  the  tombs  at  night. 
A  piteous  outcast  barren  and  lean 
He  beat  his  breast  and  cried  "  unclean." 

God's  laws  were  as  the  trembling  strings 

Wherefrom  he  plucked  sweet  mellow  tones, 

And  causes,  strongest  of  all  things, 

Were  for  his  golden  paving-stones, 

Wild  forces,  exquisite  as  birds, 

Were  tamed  by  him,  and  knew  his  words. 

He  dreamed  he  was  so  frail,  so  poor, 
He  could  be  held  by  stone  and  fire, 


THE  DREAMING    MAN  177 

Yet  melting  rock  could  not  endure 
Before  the  rod  of  his  desire. 
He  shut  himself  into  a  tomb; 
"  What  hand  can  raise  me  from  my  doom  ? " 

He  thought  he  ran  from  pole  to  pole, 
And  that  he  delved  into  the  sun, 
Unraveled  the  bright  web  from  a  soul, 
And  found  it  was  not  any  one. 
He  ate  the  grass  and  bit  the  sod. 
"  Ye  beasts,"  he  cried,  "  there  is  no  God." 

Yet  sometimes,  stirring  in  his  sleep, 
God's  fertile  breath  upon  his  eyes, 
The  splendor  makes  his  dream  less  deep, 
And  half  he  sees  his  Paradise. 

0  then,  stretched  vast  beyond  the  sky, 
The  sleeper  dreams  that  he  is  I. 

Bright  as  the  silver  waters  are 
That  girdle  this  dark  earth  around, 
As  sure  as  light  is  to  the  star, 
Or  as  the  silence  to  the  sound  — 
Wrought  fair  within  and  breathed  without, 

1  feel  the  sleeper  all  about. 

And  well  I  know  that  I  am  he  — 
For  I  am  mightier  than  I  seem. 


1 78  THE   DREAMING    MAN 

I  am  not  the  shape  I  look  to  be  j 
But  I  am  greater  than  my  dream. 
Amid  the  cloudy  dust  there  shine 
High  citadels  that  all  are  mine. 

The  caravansary  of  the  days 

A  moment  pitch  their  tents  of  light ; 

Then  shadowed  take  their  destined  ways 

Over  the  deserts  of  dark  night, 

And  what  black  sand  down  which  they  went 

Remembers  how  they  stretched  their  tent  ? 

This  solid  earth  is  not  so  stout. 
It  has  a  vague  and  shifting  look. 
It  runs  like  water  all  about, 
And  trembles  like  the  singing  brook. 
Brightly  it  slips  from  out  my  hand, 
The  little  hour's  worth  of  sand. 

When  in  a  vault  I  once  must  lie 

And  rock  put  on  the  heavy  look, 

I  saw  sweet  shapes  through  substance  fly 

As  sound  is  woven  in  a  brook. 

Bright  wandering  faces  breathed  and  shone, 

And  smiling  eyes  blew  through  the  stone. 

When  terror  takes  me  by  the  hair, 
I  say  "  'T  is  but  the  drift  of  sleep." 


THE  DREAMING    MAN  179 

And  when  distrust  shall  lay  me  bare, 
I  laugh  outside,  while  my  eyes  weep. 
For  this  which  takes  my  heart  to-day, 
While  happening  seems  so  far  away. 

When  from  the  dust  I  seek  release, 
And  my  heart  cries  "  I  must  be  free," 
I  plunge  in  that  abyss  of  peace, 
That  is  the  greater  self  of  me. 
I  swing  submerged  in  that  great  tide, 
Whose  oceans  in  my  soul  abide. 

0  Dreaming  Man,  how  dost  thou  know  ?  " 
The  dawn  has  touched  this  sleep  of  mine. 
The  vapor  wavers  to  and  fro, 

And  in  my  plumed  wits  there  shine 
Strange  eyes  as  out  of  peacock's  wings 
And  they  behold  great  gorgeous  things. 

Clothed  in  the  scarlet  of  the  skies 

At  the  high  feast  I  sit  elate. 

The  flaming  lights  of  Paradise 

Are  for  my  ministers  of  state. 

White  powers  from  my  body  stream  — 

1  hold  the  little  earth  —  and  dream. 


UNDER   THE   TREES 

THE  wonderful,  strong,  angelic  trees, 

With  their  blowing  locks  and  their  bared  great 

knees 

And  nourishing  bosoms,  shout  all  together, 
And    rush    and    rock    through    the   glad    wild 

weather. 

They  are  so  old  they  teach  me, 
With  their  strong  hands  they  reach  me, 
Into  their  breast  my  soul  they  take, 
And  keep  me  there  for  wisdom's  sake. 

They  teach  me  little  prayers ; 
To-day  I  am  their  child  ; 
The  sweet  breath  of  their  innocent  airs 
Blows  through  me  strange  and  wild. 

So  many  things  they  know, 

So  learned  with  the  ebb  and  flow 

By  which  the  seasons  come  and  go. 

Still  the  forefather  stands 

With  unforgetting  eyes, 

Forever  holding  in  his  tranquil  hands 

The  fruit  that  makes  us  wise. 


UNDER   THE   TREES  181 

So  many  things  they  hear, 
Whisperings  small  and  dear  ! 
The  little  lizard  has  a  voice  clear, 

Squirrel  and  mole. 

A  wild  and  pleasant  speech 

Our  Lord  has  given  to  each. 
Dear  masters,  pray  you  teach 
The  language  of  the  woodchuck  in  his  hole. 
So  many  things  they  praise 
In  earnest,  worshipful  ways, 
The  Little  Moment  and  the  Ancient  of  Days. 
To  one  they  yield  a  flower 
That  blossoms  for  an  hour; 
The  other  they  praise   with   all  their  singing 

blood 
That  they  so  long  have  stood. 

So  many  things  they  love. 

The  frail  ecstatic  gnats  that  move 

Like  planets  whirling  in  a  sky, 

These  do  they  lean  above 

Even  like  Heaven,  while  they  flame  and  die. 

Here  are  our  neighbors,  the  good  weeds, 

And,  look  you,  all  the  brown  industrious  seeds 

With  busy  workmanship  achieve 

Green  citadels  of  grass, 

And  minarets  and  domes  of  shining  flowers. 


1 82  UNDER    THE   TREES 

Absorbed  and  radiant,  perpetually  they  pass. 

The  little  workers  with  their  subtle  powers 

Lay  their  foundations  in  the  sod, 

While  the  tree,  that  knows  all  from  so  long  ago, 

Watches  the  busy  weaving  to  and  fro, 

And  smiles  on  them  like  God. 

Now  I  am  brave  again, 

Strong  again  and  pure. 

I  have  washed  my  spirit  clean  of  men, 

I  am  established,  sure. 

I  have  drunk  the  waters  of  delight 

From  fountains  that  endure ; 

Yes,  I  have  bathed  my  soul 

Where  the  rushing  leaves  carouse. 

I  have  drunk  the  air  that  freely  flows 

And  washes  their  green  boughs. 

I  never  feel  afraid 

Among  the  trees  ; 

Of  trees  are  houses  made  ; 

And  even  with  these, 

Unhewn,  untouched,  unseen, 

Is  something  homelike  in  the  safe  sweet  green, 

Intimate  in  the  shade. 

Something  remembered  haunts  me, 

A  familiar  aspect  suddenly  enchants  me ; 


UNDER   THE   TREES  183 

These  things  were  so 
When  I  was  here,  hundreds  of  years  ago. 

Oh,  not  to-day  have  I  the  first  time  seen 
This  pool  of  sunshine,  this  bending  green, 
This  knotted  soil,  and  underneath  the  stone 
The  small  gray  water  singing  all  alone. 
But  when  my  naked  soul  came  wandering  down 
On  the  pilgrimage,  kind  hands  did  succor  me 
And  clothed  me  in  the  guise  of  grass  or  soil, 
Or  a  gnat  maybe  !    Making  me  a  shelter 
Of  root  or  stone  !    For  surely  in  their  eyes 
I  see  a  look  of  query  and  surmise, 

A  begging  for  love, 
As  humble  parents  look  upon  a  child 

Returned  more  wise  than  they 
And  strive  with  all  they  know  to  please  him  so 

.  That  he  will  stay. 

Ah,  he  has  traveled  far,  and  many  years  been  gone, 
Yet  still  he  is  their  son,  their  son,  their  son  ! 

My  wistful  kinsfolk,  I  will  not  forget 

Your  simple  patois  !    Oh,  't  were  shame  on  me 

To  grow  oblivious  to  my  father's  speech  ! 

But  I  will  go 

With  men,  yes,  with  the  angels,  slipping  so 
Into  the  old  vernacular !    They  will  smile 


1 84  UNDER   THE   TREES 

To  hear  the  sweet  provincialisms  come 
With  tender  thoughts  of  home. 

And  God  Himself 

When  I  am  praising  Him,  with  the  great  mirth 
And  radiant  ceremonials,  will  be  kind, 
That  even  His  Heaven  has  not  rid  my  mind 
Of  the  quaint  customs  of  my  native  earth. 

We  are  all  brothers  !    Come,  let 's  rest  awhile 
In  the  great  kinship.    Underneath  the  trees 
Let 's  be  at  home  once  more,  with  birds  and  bees 
And  gnats  and  soil  and  stone.    With  these  I  must 
Acknowledge  family  ties.    Our  mother,  the  dust, 
With  wistful  and  investigating  eyes 
Searches  my  soul  for  the  old  sturdiness, 
Valor,  simplicity  !    Stout  virtues  these, 
We  learned  at  her  dear  knees. 

Friend,  you  and  I 

Once  played  together  in  the  good  old  days. 
Do  you   remember  ?    Why,  brother,  down  what 

wild  ways 
We  traveled,  when  — 

That 's  right !    Draw  close  to  me  ! 
Come  now,  let  's  tell  the  tale  beneath  the  old 

roof-tree. 


ORA   PRO   NOBIS 


While  I  was  still  a  child  so  young 
I  had  no  words  upon  my  tongue 

(Hail  Mary.) 

They  led  me  to  a  convent  gray 
And  here  they  told  me  I  must  stay 
And  learn  to  think  high  thoughts  and  pray. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

They  taught  me  I  must  keep  my  ways 
Fresh  for  God's  sight  and  fit  for  praise, 
As  clean  as  angels  all  my  days. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

They  taught  me  that  my  words  should  fall 
With  silence  sweet  for  interval, 
And  that  God's  praise  should  sphere  them  all 
As  the  sky  holds  this  earthen  ball. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

"  And  my  looks  too,"  said  I,  "  shall  they 
Not  praise  Him,  like  a  child  at  play  ?  " 

"  Hush)  little  Daughter"  answered  they, 
And  made  me  stitch  the  livelong  day. 
(Hail  Mary.) 


1 86  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

"  Let  all  your  thoughts  be  sweet  and  mild, 
Like  the  wings  of  doves,  or  silver-wild 
Sing  round  God's  heart,  for  thou  art  a  child.' 
(Hail  Mary.) 

Long  years  I  dwelt  in  that  dark  hall, 
There  was  no  mirror  on  the  wall, 
I  never  saw  my  face  at  all. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

In  a  great  peace  they  kept  me  there, 
A  straight  white  robe  they  had  me  wear, 
And  the  white  bands  about  my  hair. 
I  did  not  know  that  I  was  fair. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

I  did  not  know  how  bright  my  looks 
Shone  in  that  place  like  rippling  brooks. 
But  the  gray  nuns  in  shadowy  bands 
Closed  thick  around  me  as  the  sands 
Lift  water  in  their  slow  grave  hands. 

o 

And  so  I  glistened  all  alone 

Like  a  water  singing  cheerly, 

Knowing  not  it  sings  so  clearly. 

Oh,  for  a  wild  rush  down  the  mountain ! 

Hidden  in  a  basin  of  stone 

I  sprang  and  sang  like  a  golden  fountain. 


ORA    PRO   NOBIS  187 

Sometimes  we  sewed  at  magic  gowns 
For  great  gay  ladies  in  the  towns, 
Color  of  flame  and  russet  browns, 

(Hail  Mary.) 

Stuff  of  blue  and  cloth  of  red 
And  thin  apparel  for  the  dead, 
Stitched  in  and  out  with  a  lily-white  thread. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

Sometimes  we  chanted  a  slow  hymn, 
And  in  the  cloister,  long  and  dim, 
We  stood  in  ranks  like  lilies  slim. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

The  pale  Priest  swung  a  starry  light, 
And  sometimes  in  my  dreams  at  night 
The  great  kind  angels  warm  and  bright 
Wove  me  garments  of  delight. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

Sometimes  made  strange  with  cloudlike  needs 

I  used  to  tell  the  Lord  my  beads. 

They  were  as  beautiful  as  deeds 

That  won  the  blessed  saints  their  meeds. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

When  to  the  Crucifix  I  came 
I  kissed  it,  out  of  love  and  shame, 
And  then  great  wings  would  round  me  flame. 

(Hail  Mary.) 


1 88  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

Sometimes  alone  and  vision  struck 

I  made  black  letters  in  a  book, 

Or  such  a  glory  round  them  shook 

They  blossomed  with  a  flowering  look. 

I  wrought  them  round  with  smooth  green  leaves, 

Where  scarlet  fruitage  interweaves, 

And  the  pale  light  of  water-lily  sheaves 

Spread  a  tranquil  splendor  under 

A  warm  vintage  of  purple  and  green, 

Angels'  warm  garments  shone  between, 

And  mellowed  with  a  yellowed  wonder 

The  rich  page  of  the  Breviary, 

Whose  words  stepped  in  a  solemn  tune 

Mindful  of  an  inner  rune 

As  black  nuns  in  the  afternoon 

Pace  a  hot  garden,  flowered  with  June. 

And  those  dark  words  upon  the  page, 

Bound  on  their  holy  pilgrimage, 

And   the  brighter  words   that   blazoned   them 

round 

Uttered  a  strange  beamy  sound 
More  musical  than  any  sound  — 
For  all  the  words  in  the  Breviary 
Were  written  in  the  praise  of  Mary. 
Mary  Mother,  be  thou  kind  to  us, 
In  thy  Heaven,  turn  thy  mind  to  us, 
Among  thy  angels,  be  not  blind  to  us  ! 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  189 

/  give  my  perfectness  to  thee, 
My  innocence  and  virginity. 

Keep  me  in  purity, 

So  shall  I  blessed  be. 
Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis. 

Once  I  that  was  not  wise  from  age 
Left  a  kiss  upon  the  page. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

I  thought  the  words  might  bloom  more  rare 
If  innocent  kisses  warmed  them  there. 
I  did  not  know  that  I  was  fair. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

ii 

The  corridor  was  long  and  lone, 
And  it  was  flagged  with  shining  stone, 
Polished  by  feet  long  dead  and  gone. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
I  used  to  travel  every  night 
Those  stones,  and  as  a  lily  white 
Sheds  petals,  so  my  taper  bright 
Reflected  a  slow  swimming  light. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

Upon  one  side  a  corridor 
Into  a  garden  opened  sweet, 


1 90  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

Heavy  with  summer,  rich  with  heat, 
And  sometimes  whitened  thin  with  sleet. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
At  midnight  how  it  used  to  smell 
Of  rose  and  jasmine,  and  the  bell 
From  the  high  tower  dropped  a  sound 
Sphering  through  the  spicy  dell 
Orbed  and  golden  to  the  ground. 
I  used  to  wonder,  if  I  found  it, 
With  all  its  music  wrapped  around  it, 
If  I  could  keep  it  shaped  just  so, 
A  star  of  sound  in  a  golden  glow. 

The  whole  year  long  and  every  night 
My  bare  feet  traveled,  silver  white. 
Looking  neither  left  nor  right, 
In  my  hand  I  held  a  light. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
I  went  with  oil  to  Mary's  shrine 
To  feed  the  blessed  light  divine 
That  perpetually  must  shine. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

Of  all  the  nuns  I  was  the  least. 
Each  night  I  met  the  pale  worn  Priest, 
Whose  fasting  was  his  only  feast, 
(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  191 

Pacing  darkly  by  the  wall 
To  the  nuns'  confessional, 
I  could  hear  his  footsteps  fall, 
Stop  at  the  cross,  and  that  was  all. 
(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

I  knew  how  once  upon  the  stone 
Kissing  the  cross  he  prayed  alone 
Until  its  pangs  consumed  his  bone, 
And  in  his  flesh  that  grief  was  shown. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
And  now  upon  his  hands  and  breast 
Christ's  precious  wounds  were  manifest, 
Making  him  holier  than  the  rest. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

Three  long  years  I  faced  him  there 
Every  night,  and  felt  his  prayer 
Shine  round  him  like  a  starry  air. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
He  turned  from  me  his  unseeing  eye 
Like  one  who  was  about  to  die, 
And  knelt  at  the  cross  as  I  passed  by. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

It  was  upon  a  winter's  night, 
My  bare  feet  traveled,  silver  white 


i92  ORA    PRO   NOBIS 

Through  fine  sheer  sleet  that  glittered  bright, 

Looking  neither  left  nor  right, 

In  my  hand  I  bore  a  light. 

A  garment  spun  of  whirling  sleet 

Wove  me  round  from  head  to  feet, 

I  shone  as  in  a  winding  sheet. 

My  clinging  feet  left  blood  upon 

The  sharp  strange  coldness  of  the  stone. 

I  drifted  on  without  a  moan. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
Before  the  blast  my  head  was  bent, 
I  could  not  see  which  way  I  went, 
When  at  the  cross  I  fell,  clean  spent. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

The  Priest  came  staggering  through  the  blast. 

For  forty  nights  he  kept  his  fast 

Even  like  the  Christ  —  this  was  the  last. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
His  cast-out  dreams  appeared  to  glow, 
A  pageant  and  a  blazing  show, 
Round  about  I  saw  them  go, 
Fire  woven  in  a  snow. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

The  visions  that  he  drove  from  him 
About  my  eyelids,  beating  dim, 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  193 

Like  radiant  vapors  seemed  to  swim, 

And  suddenly  unfurled, 
The  air  showed  in  its  cordial  fold 
High  blazoned  chambers  floored  with  gold 

Built  in  a  magic  world. 

Strong  blocks  of  air  reared  musical 
Were  quarried  for  a  shining  wall, 
With  thrill  of  lute  and  zithern  call, 
I  seemed  to  know  the  names  of  all. 
The  wind  was  shaped  in  colonnades, 
Turret  and  dome  and  long  arcades, 
While  blossoming  fruit  trees  cast  their  shades 
Over  the  laughing  cavalcades 
Of  knights  and  ladies,  lads  and  maids. 
High  flowering  vines  reached  up  to  clamber 

In  sunlit  rings  to  icy  airs, 

Green  boughs  laughed  out  with  plums  and  pears, 
While  silvery  feet  of  dancing  fairs 
Wheeled,  like  white  birds,  down  golden  stairs 

To  a  golden  paven  chamber 
Whereon  their  footfalls  shone  like  amber. 

The  Priest  beat  on  his  breast  and  cried, 
"  I  will  not  see  them."    Barren  eyed 
He  stared  them  from  him  and  defied. 
(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 


194  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

The  towers  built  of  thought  and  dream 
A  moment  terribly  did  gleam, 
Then  ran  like  water  in  a  stream. 
(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

He  beat  from  him  the  beauteous  net. 
About  his  brow  the  frozen  sweat 
Flashed  like  a  visor  sternly  set. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
"  If  I  can  reach  the  cross,"  he  cried, 
"  Whereon  my  Lord  was  crucified, 
Then  the  whole  world  has  been  denied, 

Devil,  beast,  or  human." 
Bleeding  before  the  cross  he  knelt, 
Dimly  through  the  snow  he  felt, 
And  his  kiss  fell  on  me  —  a  woman. 

The  sweet  chill  fragrance  of  the  snow 
More  fine  than  lilies  all  aglow 
Breathed  around  —  he  saw  me  so, 
In  garments  spun  of  fire  and  snow. 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
His  hands  were  on  my  face  and  hair, 
His  high,  stern  eyes  that  would  forswear 
All  earthly  beauty,  saw  me  there. 
Oh,  then  I  knew  that  I  was  fair ! 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  195 

He  drove  me  from  him  through  the  night. 
My  bare  feet  traveled,  silver  white. 
Looking  neither  left  nor  right, 
In  my  hand  I  held  a  light, 

(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 
I  went  with  oil  to  Mary's  shrine 
To  feed  the  blessed  light  divine 
That  perpetually  must  shine. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

in 

Great  is  the  will  and  great  the  need 
Of  him  who  strives  against  a  deed, 
How  often  does  he  faint  and  bleed  ; 
But  he  can  crouch  behind  a  stone, 
Or  hide  in  barren  fields  alone, 
Bondsman  until  the  hour  is  done. 

Sterner  is  the  battle  fought 
By  him  who  strives  against  a  thought. 

I  knelt  before  the  shrine  that  day 
Where  Mary  smiles  on  them  that  pray, 
Not  once  I  let  my  thoughts  astray. 

I  kept  my  dreams  on  angels'  wings, 
And  oh,  they  were  but  empty  things, 
Frail  lights  and  golden  vanishings. 


196  ORA   PRO    NOBIS 

'Twixt  him  and  me  the  Holy  Cup 
Pale  hands  of  thought  had  lifted  up, 
But  lo,  it  broke  ere  I  could  sup. 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
'Twixt  him  and  me  I  brought  the  face 
Of  my  dead  Christ  and  sued  for  grace, 
But  his  looks  blurred  it  from  the  place. 

(Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis.) 


The  thoughts  I  sent  'twixt  me  and  him 
Like  holy  incense  fluttered  dim 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
A  moment  breathed,  a  fragile  sheen, 
A  simple  blueness  blown  between, 
A  little  dimness  briefly  seen. 

(Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis.) 

Oh,  then  I  ran  with  battling  cries, 
Beating  the  vision  from  my  eyes. 
Yes,  round  and  round  in  frantic  wise  ! 
But  still  that  thought  would  seem  to  blow 
And  drift  my  body  like  helpless  snow 
In  a  strange  shape  I  did  not  know, — 
A  foolish,  white,  and  dropping  thing, 
That  hurried  where  I  would  not  go, 
Distraught  with  wandering. 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  197 

Then  I  raised  up  to  God  my  prayer, 
I  swept  its  strong  and  circling  air 
Betwixt  me  and  the  great  despair. 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
But  when  before  the  sacred  shrine 
I  knelt  to  kiss  the  cross  benign, 
Mary,  I  thought  his  lips  touched  mine. 

(Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis.) 

Stepping  darkly  by  the  wall 
One  and  one,  with  slow  footfall, 
We  entered  the  confessional. 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
I  thought  that  Heaven  would  take  me  in 
If  so  I  did  but  speak  my  sin. 

(Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis.) 

Softly  to  the  grate  I  trod; 
He  seemed  to  me  more  far  than  God  ; 
My  great  shame  scourged  me  like  a  rod. 
"  Father,  I  think  of  you  all  day, 
I  cannot  work.    I  cannot  pray. 
I  love  you.    Purge  my  love  away" 

Then  he,  with  eyes  that  saw  me  not, 
Spoke  with  pure  lips  that  had  forgot. 
(Holy  Mother,  pray  for  us.) 


198  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

"  Go  thou  to  Mary's  shrine  to-night 
And  keep  with  oil  the  eternal  light, 
But  ere  thou  goest  from  her  sight 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
Take  thou  the  fearful  rods  and  thresh 
The  forbidden  dreaming  from  thy  flesh." 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

IV 

In  the  middle  of  the  night 
My  bare  feet  traveled,  sleety  white. 
Looking  neither  left  nor  right, 
In  my  hand  I  held  a  light. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

I  went  with  oil  to  Mary's  shrine 
To  feed  the  blessed  light  divine 
That  perpetually  must  shine. 
(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

Before  my  trembling  hand  could  lift 
The  sacred  oil  for  her  gift 

(Hail  Mary.) 

I  scourged  my  body  till  it  leapt 
And  I  could  hear  it  —  how  it  wept. 
Then  broken  to  her  feet  I  crept 
And  worn  with  that  great  vigil,  slept. 
(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 


ORA   PRO    NOBIS  199 

When  I  woke,  I  saw  his  face 
Float  towards  me  in  that  empty  space. 
Mary's  white  figure,  bowered  in  grace, 
Shone  on  us  from  her  lighted  place. 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
"  Lord,  keep  me  from  this  child,"  he  cried, 
"  Or  it  were  better  I  had  died." 
And  straight,  I  found  him  at  my  side. 
(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 

My  cheek  upon  his  bosom  laid, 
I  saw  the  eternal  burning  fade. 
With  sacred  oil  it  was  not  stayed. 

(Sweet  Mary,  pray  for  us.) 
I  would  have  lighted  it,  but  oh, 
His  circling  arm  contained  me  so  ! 
Dark  came.    I  had  no  will  to  go. 

(Mary,  intercede  for  us.) 


They  scourged  us  round  the  walls  of  gray, 
They  stoned  us  till  the  end  of  day. 
They  drove  him,  where  I  cannot  say. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

They  shut  me  in  a  cell  of  stone. 
Years  and  years  are  dead  and  gone 
Since  I  have  tarried  here  alone. 

(Hail  Mary.) 


200  ORA    PRO    NOBIS 

They  took  my  new-born  child  away, 

I  have  not  seen  her  since  that  day. 

What  sweet  prayers  has  she  learned  to  say  ! 

(Hail  Mary.) 

There  used  to  be  a  convent  bell 
Dropped  golden  sound  through  a  spicy  dell ; 
I  can  remember  it  so  well. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

One  time  I  used  to  go  at  night 
And  feed  with  oil  the  virgin's  light. 
Sometimes  the  sleet  would  glitter  bright. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

Some  was  blue  and  some  was  red 
And  some  was  white  to  please  the  dead. 
We  sewed  it  with  a  lily-white  thread. 

(Hail  Mary.) 

A  jasmine  grew  beside  the  wall ; 
The  moon  hung  like  a  yellow  ball. 
I  have  never  seen  my  face  ajt  all. 

They  took  him  far  and  far  away 
To  a  dark  cell,  I  heard  them  say, 
That  never  sees  the  light  of  day. 
Each  night  at  twelve  they  have  him  pray. 
(Hail  Mary.) 


ORA    PRO    NOBIS  201 

When  at  that  hour  before  the  shrine 
I  kiss,  like  him,  the  cross  benign, 
Father  in  Heaven  —  his  lips  touch  mine. 
(Hail  Mary.) 

I  have  grown  old  and  spent  with  age 
But  still  my  hand  is  swift  and  sage 
To  make  sweet  letters  on  a  page. 
And  all  the  words  in  the  Breviary 
Are  written  in  the  praise  of  Mary. 
Mary  Mother,  be  thou  kind  to  us  ! 
In  thy  Heaven  have  a  mind  to  us  ! 
Among  thy  angels  be  not  blind  to  us  ! 

I  give  my  perfectness  to  thee, 

My  innocence  and  virginity, 
Keep  me  in  purity. 
So  shall  I  blessed  be. 

Ave  Maria,  Ora  Pro  Nobis. 


OF  THf 

UNIVERSITY 

or 


(Cfoe  Biterpibe 

Ekctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &*  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.  A. 


